Mass Effect: Shepherds
by ecnal nogardnap
Summary: The saga of the galaxy's greatest legend is witnessed through the eyes of an unsuspecting observer. But what lies in store for both of them? OC involved!
1. Lost Ram

**Author's notes: Wow, it's been ages since I posted anything! Hi, all! First, some stuff!**

**This is, obviously, a Mass Effect fanfiction (I'm very late to jump on the bandwagon, but it's SUCH a good series and I was exposed to it as a freebie XD). I have it on my Deviantart account and you can basically search for it there.**

**It focuses on an OC rather than Commander Shepard, and while both of them have their own character profiles and whatnot, I'm just gonna give you a quick guide.**

**This Shepard is an Earthborn Sole Survivor, and an Infiltrator who's the best darn sniper in the galaxy. Once an up and coming straight arrow, something inside him snapped. He's not insane, but he's eccentric and takes measures so aggressive they're sometimes comical.**

**This OC is sort of diametrically opposed. Sober, a stabilising presence.**

**Hope you enjoy it! I certainly loved writing it!  
**

**Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all related properties of AWESOMENESS belong to BIOWARE.**

Mass Effect: Shepherds

=========================  
Systems Alliance N7 Log  
Username: Ares23  
Password: *****  
WELCOME, LT. RAMSHIEP  
Entry 1 (2183): So here we are. Udina said I should keep a record about all of this. I've already got DA and Spacebook for that, but I suppose it makes sense. I'll be seeing stuff for Alliance eyes only, after all. The Normandy came back from its first run, and the higher ups were able to haggle with the Council, so I guess I'm in as an observer for SA. I heard the commander of this outfit is the survivor on Akuze. If his track record is anything to go by, I suppose I won't be bored. That aside, what could possibly go wrong?  
EDIT (2184): Huh. I wonder whether I jinxed it by writing that.  
=========================

"Stop worrying, lieutenant. Hackett and Udina already cleared this."

"I'm not worried."

"You nearly threw up. With a helmet on."

"With respect, sir, you have a very luxurious voice. Have you considered voice acting on the side? Or PSAs, or promos. Narrations-"

"And you're rambling."

The lieutenant sighed. The armour felt strange on him. It was years since he last wore it. His voice sounded even stranger through the filter, and he'd been using _that_since his first cry.

The one thing which sounded perfectly fine was the voice of his superior. A velvety bass, perhaps a little scratchy from years of service and cares, like a well honed drive core. His features were familiar, hard yet compassionate, like sapient granite.

"I know this is a lot to take in, Ramshiep. I appreciate that you're here."

"I...I'm sorry, sir. I've got it now. It's just...Saren and the geth? Some Prothean tech on Eden Prime? This is all..."

Alan Ramshiep looked down, his mind searching for an appropriate analogy for the recent turn of events.

He'd been through training which broke his bones and blistered his buns. He'd been in live combat that left him with a few scars, both physical and metaphorical. He even saw and occasionally worked with beings which, until their present era, seemed to belong in a science fiction novel.

That's when it hit him.

"It's...kind of like a holo. Heh."

His eyes lightened up, and he removed his helmet. The edges of his mouth turned upwards, buoyed by a persistent sense of humour. The sudden swell of awareness escaped his lips as a light chuckle, and soon grew into a short bark of laughter.

Fresh air and the airing of his doubts refreshed his thoughts. With his second wind (of the idiomatic kind, not the astrophysics kind), he found it in himself to face reality.

"Feel better?"

"Yes, sir. Thanks. Holos I can handle. I mean..." he paused, carefully formulating a reply of confusion, not despair. "I'll be there, those are my orders, but...why me? I don't shoot up geth. I'm not Spectre material. I've never worked in anything other than a cohesive unit. I'm just...just a specialist, that's it."

Anderson gave the younger soldier a pat on the back. Alan knew that it was fairly earned, for Anderson treated everyone fairly, as they deserved...to his benefit, and to the detriment of certain others (*coughudinacough*).

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Ramshiep. I wouldn't have picked you out as an aide if I didn't think you had potential. As to why...well, Shepard's been through a lot. He seems normal," and at this point Anderson mumbled "well, normal relative to him...", concluding "but I have my concerns. And I know for a fact that things are only gonna get harder from here on out."

The Captain's focus sharpened, and Ramshiep felt it. The pressure of living up to a superior's expectations, as well as the unconditional faith that he could do it.

"What he needs, lieutenant, is a stabilising presence."

An eyebrow twitched on the younger man. Was that it? He liked easy assignments, sure, but...

_That can't be it._

"You could just get him a Yeoman for that."

Anderson smiled knowingly.

"Well, I thought this called for a little more...versatility. Shit's gonna hit the fan, kid. What we need is someone who knows how to stay out of trouble, but won't run from it if he has to."

And that was when he got it.

_Shepard needs an aide. Someone to give him advice and tell him yes, no, or 'are you batshit insane'._

Slowly but surely, Alan nodded, saying "I think I can do that, sir."

The doors slid open and an armoured figure walked in, its stride relaxed but confident. Well, not just any figure; it stood more than a head taller than he did and was broader, too. The face reminded him of Anderson, except...younger. Wilder. More energetic. And there seemed to be a spark of laughter there as well.

"Ah, Shepard. Got another crewmate for you. He's my aide, and now he'll be yours."

Shepard spoke clearly and casually. The faintest hint of an accent was in the wind, something from the vicinity of Scotland. "It's alright with me, Anderson. Think he's up for it?"

"Ask him yourself."

Alan Ramshiep stood to attention, straight as he could manage, and extended a hand. Being face to face with a legend, it was all he could do to not turn into a babbling wreck.

"Commander. It's an honour."

The agents of the Systems Alliance shook hands, the hero turning it into an informal clasp. Ares stumbled forward a bit, and Shepard laughed. But it wasn't mocking, cruel laughter...it seemed to set him at ease. Like he was laughing with him over some unsaid joke.

"Oh, I'm sure. Slandering the name of a public servant is always a worthy cause. Now, think you could help me hunt some evidence?"

**Author's notes: I'm not going to cover every single questline and moment in the game (sadly), but I will be covering separated scenes that will give you a bigger picture over time. Hope you enjoyed it!**


	2. The Shepherding

**Author's notes: Here we go, first instance of a short scene, and you basically hear what's happened so far. Don't worry, you'll get used to it! Hope you enjoy it!  
**

**Disclaimer: Mass Effect and its associated characters are all the propert of Bioware! Buy some today!**

Mass Effect: Shepherds

=========================  
Systems Alliance N7 Log  
Username: Ares23  
Password: ******  
WELCOME, LT. RAMSHIEP  
Entry 3 (2183): Our mission's been cleared, and we're now being led by the first human Spectre. Would have liked it if we had the help of the first Hanar Spectre, but you can't win 'em all. Even without such a prize, the party's starting to get exotic. It's the first time I've worked with a Quarian, and Tali's already teacher's pet. I expected Officer Vakarian to have a good head in battle, of course, but the krogan surprised me; he's nearly as quick as Shepard, and his judgement's just as sound. Commander let the krogan straight-up shotgun Fist. Heh. Fist. I was a bit outraged, but really? Fist? We did the Citadel a favour.  
EDIT (2185): Seriously? _Fist?_ Tali, now that I'm wiser, I know you're reading this, or Shepard's hacked the logs and given them to you. So allow me to reiterate: You thought to go to a man whose name was _Fist?_ And don't give me any of that 'alien tongues' stuff, I know your suit has a translator.  
=========================

The flash forged target in the range exploded just above the neck.

Alan hummed in admiration while the Turian waited for the rifle to cool down.

"I thought nobody'd find that spot in the cover. Does C-Sec often require you to be the best marksman on the Citadel?"

Garrus laughed that throaty, double layered laugh all Turians possessed. The first analogy that came to mind was a layer cake, and try as he might, he couldn't get rid of it, so it stuck.

"Not always, but time in the military helps. Turian, remember?"

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"Nothing to apologise for."

The human looked down, focusing on the programming terminal and inputting variables. He found it strange that he was forgetting cultural details like that, considering he read up on the recorded Codex entries about each known species so far. Like, obsessively.

Then again, perhaps it wasn't so strange. The more he got to know them, the more human these beings seemed. Not in a racist 'humanity is the yardstick' view, but they had the same feelings, the same doubts, the same passions as he did. Some were more pronounced, others were different, and some goals and creeds would be considered unusual to humans, but he could understand them.

Well, every one of them except Wrex. Eh, he'll come around.

"So, that armour I saw. Back on the Citadel. What is it, exactly?"

Alan rose from the firing range's terminal briefly, lighting up his omnitool. In a microsecond, bright plates assembled upon his body like a shell.

"Tech armour, Alliance issued. Omnitool flash forges strategic armour plating from key components, and a corresponding biotic field suspends these plates around me. It's, ah, difficult to manage, so it's only authorised for qualified tech/biotic specialists."

"Soooo I can't use it."

"Not unless you've been chugging eezo, but it does make me a useful, durable distraction, as you and Shepard found out."

Garrus's mouth turned an inch, but the lieutenant wasn't sure whether that was a smile or not. His tone, however, was casual and amiable. Garrus was surprisingly friendly, for a Turian. The ones he worked with were all rather rigid.

"Yeah, that'll work."

The next target appeared, flashing red. A handful of blue figures materialised right beside it, and the virtual targets danced, weaved, and zigzagged in a programmed route while Garrus took aim. A few seconds later, the objective burst.

"Whoa. I didn't think you'd get that one."

Garrus stood back, confusion seen plainly in his eye without the visor. It was then that Alan realised his sniper rifle wasn't showing any signs of heat.

"That, uh, wasn't me."

That was when they saw the commander and his smoking rifle. No, not a double entendre at all.

"Gentlemen."

Ares stepped back quickly and saluted, but forgot that his tech armour was still on. His brow, on the other hand, did not, as the combination of strategic alloys batted it back. With a slight curse, he adjusted his salute and his stance.

"Commander."

Shepard laughed in his usual disarming way. Although by now, Ares knew that it could just as easily be _alarming_ depending on the context.

"Just Shepard's fine. We'll be making the jump to the Artemis Tau cluster soon, Ares, so get ready. I'm bringing you and Wrex along for this one."

Garrus and Alan had a moment of shock.

"**_Wrex?_**"

Garrus counted the points on his fingers. Fortunately for him, one hand was all it took, so he didn't have a cartoonish moment of moving to the next.

"The krogan. To a dig site with a person of interest. And possibly some highly valuable prothean tech."

Shepard shot them. With a knowing look, not a firearm, so they felt curious rather than scared. Little did they know, the two were not always mutually exclusive.

"Exactly. You two fought beside him, but you're still unsure. Imagine how the rest of the ship feels about having him aboard. He helps get results, that'll be a step in the right direction."

The spacefaring warriors exchanged glances of varying degrees.

"That's...actually a good move." Ramshiep commented.

_Like something Anderson would have done. Smooth way to build up your team's connections-_

"That and I like the way he breaks things."

The flippancy with which he delivered that admission shoved Alan and Garrus back from slow realisation to dumbfounded shock. All his commander would do was smile winningly.

"Trust me, leftenant. I know what I'm doing. Now run that program again, I've got a Turian who needs schooling."

_Aggressive. Eccentric. But he gets results. What's the worst that could happen?_

**A/N: Bear in mind. At this point, Ramshiep still thinks this is going to be a fairly orthodox op. He has no idea that the entire storyline and its protagonist belongs in an RPG franchise. **


	3. Brozoned

**Author's notes: Chapter 3! Yes, things seem slow when you read them, but the actual events are going by pretty quickly, I would think! Thanks for the face, red jackal! And thanks to anyone kind enough to stop by and take a look!**

**Disclaimer: Mass Effect and its associate products are all the property of Bioware!**

Mass Effect: Shepherds

=========================  
Systems Alliance N7 Log  
Username: Ares23  
Password: ***********  
WELCOME, LT. RAMSHIEP  
Entry 6 (2183): Doctor T'Soni is starting to adjust to being on the ship. Gave her the files on Shepard. Gonna wait and see what happens. Should be good for a laugh. Of course, I'm still finding it a little hard to get used to. 'Young' asari make my head go all...fuzzy.  
EDIT (2183): So apparently Shepard is SA's top hacker. And apparently, he is authorised to force me to sit down and have a chat with Liara. Knowing full well how asari affect me. And after sending me a modded copy of Asari Confessions that was set to autoplay. Right. On the plus side, I now know what those 'hair tentacles' of hers are.  
=========================

"I'm telling you, Tali, the V-38's not a viable targeting system; it makes your drones too aggressive, they won't last long enough to make a difference even if it primes their output."

Tali'Zorah looked at Ares in what seemed to be a haughty manner...or at least that's what he gathered from the angle of her head and shoulders. For someone so meek and innocent around the commander, she seemed pretty sassy to him.

"_Human_drones, maybe. Chiktikka's a lot tougher than you'll ever be, Ares, so it's a good trade."

"Yes, well,_ I_don't have the benefit of a maker to infinitely rebuild me every time I die."

"Alright, kids, simmer down or I'll send you to your corners." Engineer Adams laughed. "Now are you gonna help with the drive core or not?"

That invitation from their paternal figure seemed to settle it, so for awhile, they said nothing.

He had to admit: The speed at which she manufactured those things put the engineering corps to shame. He should know, he took a few courses with them.

Some of the crew were a little wary around her. At first, her presence was strange, and her suit seemed to isolate her from others. Perhaps that, as well as their shared proclivities for selflessness, was what prompted him to open the lines of communication.

For Adams, on the other hand, her own talents and smarts were more than enough to warrant a cordial relationship. Between the three of them, the Normandy was running like a dream, to Joker's delight.

_Still need to work on that. I'm too used to doing things just because people need it, not because they deserve it. Need to see her worth, not just her problems._

"Well, maybe you have a point, Tali. See, humans, we're...a little wasteful."

"More than a little, surely. You come up prominently in online articles and lists on Shattered."

He had to hand it to her. She picked up on the intricacies of banter quite quickly.

"Don't push it. Anyways, it means that we spend less time on repair and maintenance. We're just so used to making the next big thing, the next bleeding edge technology, that we haven't really learned to optimise what we have to begin with."

Realisation crossed her...well, he couldn't exactly say face since he couldn't tell. Darn it, quarians. Why must you interfere with human-biased descriptive prose?

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. Realisation...hit her. Yeah. Like gravity.

"Unlike the fleet." Tali nodded. "I see."

"We could learn a lot from your people. About technology, about engineering, or just about making the most of what we have."

She stood silently, taking in his words. Wanting to divert his eyes from those hips, he opted to focus on calibrating the drive core. Funny how much maintenance the ship needed.

"Thanks, Ramshiep. We...don't usually get compliments. "

The levo-protein being simply smiled, saying "I'm a supporter. It's what I do."

The flow of his conversation was suddenly diverted. A thought in his head made its way to the surface, fighting against the current like a salmon and breaching like a whale.

"By the way, I've a question. I've read a lot on the extranet –"

"No good conversation starts like that, Ares."

"-and do you LIKE the commander?"

The way Tali stopped in sheer shock, it was as if that thought of his was a shark.

"Well, of course I-"

Having read a lot on the extranet, he knew just how to check and redirect an avoidance of an issue.

"In a romantic way. I'm not stupid."

"Wha...WHAT? NO!" she exclaimed with all the innocence of a child caught stealing cookies. "Of course not!"

"Yeah, see, normally, I'd be able to tell by a blush, but that darn helmet's in the way."

Relief flooded the engine room like a mass effect field as the quarian's tensed shoulders loosened.

"Well, it's a good thing I'm wearing this helmet, you shouldn't be able to see things like that, it's private and it causes rumours and-"

"But funnily enough, talking too much in that nervous tone works as confirmation as well."

"...NOT FAIR!"

He could just imagine the despondent pout on her face.

_How can someone take care of themselves so well and still seem like they need protecting?_

"Stealing glances, increased heartrate, change in inflexion and word choice..."

"When did you-"

"I downloaded an app for it."

Tali tried to approach this issue from a position of strength. The key word being 'tried'.

"Look, it's NONE of your business _don't tell Shepard._"

"Relax, I won't. This is a matter for you to decide in your own time. Whatever happens, I'll be there. And for what it's worth, I think you'd match up nicely with him. Get past the aggressive mad combat genius parts, and he's a really nice guy."

"Wow, that's really...sweet of you. Um...I hope you know that-"

_I've been through this enough times to know what comes next._

"Please, you're like the sister I've never had. There's no need to worry about putting me in a friendzone." Alan said, meaning it kindly.

"Friendzoned? Ah. I think I know that term. And...well...for what it's worth, the girl who finally gets you? I think she'd be pretty lucky. A selfless tech specialist like you would be considered a prime catch on the fleet."

"So I should try dating outside of my protein type. Gotcha."

They laughed at that. Yet somehow, her validation meant more to him than he thought it would. As a little brother, he never quite experienced the approval of those younger than him.

"Anyway... I dunno, he spends a lot of time with Williams, and Dr. T'soni..."

_This big brother thing isn't so bad now that I'm used to it._

"Williams because she lost her entire squad on Eden Prime, Shepard lost his on Akuze. Dr. T'soni because he's been brain-melded so many times by the Protheans you'd think they were stalking him, and it's giving him nightmares and she's the only local Prothean expert."

Tali perked up at that. The violet hue of her helmet's visor faced the human sentinel.

"Wait, so... He's still single?"

It was then that amidst the bubbling brook of her voice and Ares's laughing stream, a rolling wave swept them away by saying: "Not for long, if this conversation is going the way I hope it is."

"AUGH WHEN DID YOU GET HERE!" they both screamed, even before turning to meet an impious smile and the crackle of an electronics package. Shimmering air gave way as the larger than life personality known as their commander appeared.

"About a minute ago, testing my new cloaking tech."

The horror.

"Oh God. Shepard with the ability to go invisible..."

The horror.

Smooth as a hanar chardonnay, Shepard interposed himself between the two crewmates, facing Tali'Zorah nar Rayya. His imposing figure almost entirely enveloped Ares's view.

"Ssssso, Tali, I could use an engineering expert to help me with this. Private project, just you and me, what do you say we go find somewhere more private to talk about it? Just the stealth system of course. I'm sure you agree, right Leftenant?"

"I am in full understanding that you two are working very closely on a new personal cloaking system and I will say nothing but that to anyone, Commander's pistol in my face."

Those present took notice of those last five words. In the instant it took him to realise what he just said, Ares' eyes turned from the barrel of the pistol to the laughing eyes of his commander.

"I mean, just Commander."

With a tiny squeak of agreement, Tali followed Shepard, seeming even more delicate next to the colossus of a man. He thought it strange. Then again, anybody with the commander would seem like a strange pair, considering that the man blasted a Prothean dig site to bits and then went on to smash geth and exterminate a planetwide malevolent plant entity.

Adams nudged Ares, shocking him out of that carrier of thought.

"Never pegged you for a matchmaker, Ares."

"Well, we all need a hobby, Adams. And I outrank you, so think carefully on your next words."


	4. Am I Blue?

**Author's notes: Thanks for the review, Dracconnis! And hope everyone else is enjoying this story! The development in this one came out of nowhere, and surprised even me! I chalk it up to long talks with my fellow Mass Effect fan. We pretty much redid the entire series through the power of conversation and imagination. XD**

**Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all related products are property of Bioware! See also Jade Empire, Knights of the Old Republic, and Dragon Age, none of which make any appearances!  
**

Mass Effect: Shepherds

=========================  
Systems Alliance N7 Log  
Username: Ares23  
Password: *********  
WELCOME, LT. RAMSHIEP  
Entry 8 (2183): Thorian sounds creepy. Glad I wasn't there. Could have been worse, though. There could have been rats. The crew's in good shape, so we'll be headed out to intercept Matriarch Benezia. Liara's acting a little off, and I can imagine why. I'm not sure if we should bring her on board for this, but it's Shepard's call. Man's living proof that there's a method to madness...most of the time.  
=========================

Since the dawn of legends, heroes have had to overcome enemies and guardians in order to access crucial information. Oedipus had his sphinx and parental issues, Odysseus had to get his knowledge from the beds of those mystical wenches of his...and Commander Shepard had to fight a commando unit of blue skinned all-female aliens.

Defeated and surrounded, Benezia had divulged as much as she could as a means to redeem herself using the last vestiges of her strength.

"By the way, sorry I was being a prick earlier." Shepard meekly stated.

"Honestly," the matriarch confessed, "I had it coming."

A last gaze at her daughter, and it seemed she was ready to embrace eternity. It certainly felt that way for the two asari.

"Take care of my daughter. Goodbye, Little Wing."

Shepard raised his sniper rifle solemnly, one warrior to another. "I will-"

Then, he found a certain lieutenant in front of him. Struggling to fight his shaking, but resolute.

"We should take her in."

Shepard tensed at the standoff, lowering his rifle and flaring up his biotics. Ares flinched, but stood his ground, while Benezia gave voice to the commander's sentiments.

"There's nothing you can do, child."

The two humans stared each other down. Ares wasn't sure what drove him to this; some odd amalgam of extranet readings and a desire to redeem a friend's mother, most likely. With nothing but his naiveté to defend him, he said "Matriarch, you're one of the galaxy's most powerful minds. Whatever it is the Reapers did, you just broke free."

Liara recovered from the shock. Standing beside Shepard, she could only fight back her tears while the two of them subtly nudged cosmic forces into brushing the lieutenant aside.

"Alan, please...you've got to let this go-"

The two of them took care not to harm him with their biotics, but the impact still felt like a shot from a heavy pistol. On his knees, Ramshiep began to rise. His legs failed him, but his voice did not.

"Shepard. I've followed you into all sorts of messes, and you've always left me believing you were right in the end. But this is the one time I can't agree to it. Subdue her, take her in, but don't kill her. We don't know what-"

"_**She**_knows, Ares."

That was when he realised it. One of the true traits of a Spectre. More than just the training and the reputation, more than the capacity to adapt and come up with ideas so crazy that they work.

It was the ability to make the hard choices. The ones that needed to be made.

Then again, Ares was no Spectre. And in all likelihood, he never would be.

"If we could just try, maybe-"

Benezia smiled. It was the sort of look that the old and experienced often had in response to the young, gifted and stupid. Magnified several times over, that is.

"Brave...but foolish."

A thought lanced his mind, and his scream drowned out all else. That outward instant turned into an eternity, while an inward eternity played out in an instant.

Then, there was darkness.

And a voice.

_So this is what it's like in your head. I was expecting more space, but it's rather stable. Good._

_What? Who am I? I mean you._

_Just a shadow, untouched and unspoiled. Forgive me, the meld has left us disoriented._

_Images...years, decades, centuries...passing by, in the time it takes my heart to beat..._

_All that made us whole._

_Little...Wing...what...what have I-_

_Steady. These will pass, but your will must remain._

...

_Excellent. You adjusted swiftly. A lack of psychological issues has its advantages, it seems._

_Let me guess. I'm you and you're me. And since you're not you, then you must be an imprint that my subconscious is vocalising._

_How'd you know?_

_I spend a lot of time on the extranet. Of course I know. Now, are you a permanent thing or what?_

_I don't know._

_You have maybe more than a millennium on me and you don't know?_

_In more than a millennium, I have never had to do this. These are dangerous times._

_Don't suppose you've any cryptic prophecies for me? The Consort certainly didn't._

_Not really. I'll just wish you good luck._

Light welcomed him. Scent and sound betrayed his whereabouts. Antiseptics, trauma kits, discarded omnigel: the med bay.

"Ohhh...what...what did I-"

A voice broke in, clear and reserved. Chakwas. The one that kept patching them up.

"Stay put, that asari did a number on your synapses. We had to engineer a new biotic amp to deal with the increase to power while Liara put you in stasis."

"Wait, what?"

"There shouldn't be any side effects, you should be ready for active service within a week."

Ares groaned. Whatever happened to him, it left him with one hell of a migraine.

_Not as bad as Kaidan's, though, I'll bet._

"All I know is if I don't get some water soon, I'm going to oh, hey, how long was this glass in my hand?"

The doctor looked on, slight surprise in her gaze.

"It...wasn't."

He drank. It wasn't? All he did was think it.

New thoughts. Images in his head, flickering like a slide show, shifting from humans to asari, each as real as the last. New instincts, too; locate, study, improve. With the right resources, this med bay could be a wonder. Maybe with enough platinum...

" AUGH!"

"What? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, sorry, I looked in the mirror and freaked because I was human."

"...Right."

Unflappable as a revolving door (an Earth antiquity which did not flap but took whatever came and rolled with it), the silver haired expert wrote down a note.

She didn't say anything. Probably to avoid stressing out the patient. So, he made the first move.

"So...did I have any visitors?"

Chakwas smiled. A professional, and one of the ship's coolest heads, but also one of the warmest.

"Wrex dropped by, said helping to take down a matriarch was no small feat. Wanted to sign your cast, found you didn't have one, then wanted to break a limb so that he could sign a cast."

He flinched at the thought.

"Well, I'm glad you stopped him."

"Shepard did, actually. He hardly left your side. Garrus and Williams were sure you'd pull through, and Tali wanted to triple check all the medical equipment. Alenko helped get in touch with some people who could make the amp you needed and oversaw the plans."

_All that trouble...for me?_

Then, a sudden thought burst out.

"And Lit...Liara?"

Chakwas looked at the door.

"Ask her yourself."

Hydraulics whirred and the doors slid open. The asari which alternated between graceful and awkward stepped in, wringing her hands with the anxiety written plainly on her features.

"Moth...I mean...Ares."

_Little Wing._

"Liara. Thanks for coming. It...means a lot to me."

_Proud of you. So proud. You deserved better. _

Nothing needed to be said. No mind link was required. All it took was a look, and a little reach into their feelings. All it took was an instant.

"I'm sorry." Liara whispered. "So sorry. This wouldn't have happened if-"

"No. It was...it was my fault. All of it. Forgive me."

He couldn't tell whose words he was using. All he knew was he meant it.

**Author's notes: Uh oh! Something different? In fanfiction? What does it MEEEEAAAAAN?**


	5. Hold the Line!

**Author's notes: Here it is, the longest chapter yet! Hope you all enjoy it! Big shout out to Dracconnis for stopping by! I really appreciate it! This time, it's one of those crucial moments in Mass Effect, as you can tell by the title!**

**Disclaimer: Mass Effect and the Hold The Line speech are all property of Bioware. Original Gilbert and Sullivan show tunes property of Gilbert and Sullivan, credit goes to Bioware's writers for adapting said showtunes for Mordin Solus.  
**

Mass Effect: Shepherds

=========================  
Systems Alliance N7 Log  
Username: Ares23  
Password: **********  
WELCOME, LT. RAMSHIEP  
Entry 11 (2183): Still can't bring myself to really talk things through with Liara. I need to push through this, work it out. Shepard needs us in top condition; we already have a lead from the STG. If we play our cards right, we could stop Saren in one op. But if I know my epic fiction (and thanks to TVTropes, I'm pretty sure I do), then it won't end so easily. I have a bad feeling about this, and it won't go away. I trust Shepard, and I'll follow him to the end, but...  
EDIT (2184): Finally spoke with Liara. About Shepard. About things. We're still friends, that much hasn't changed. That's good to know. Right now, she's the closest thing I have to a daughter.  
=========================

A volley of gunfire took out the last of the drone swarm as a friendly flock moved in.

"So, Ash, about earlier-"

"Don't."

With the efficiency typical of their kind, the salarians took the position. They arranged orders, positions, and tactics the way his suit's mesh administered medigel. Quick, thorough, spreading like a virus.

"You know I was just making sure Shepard could persuade-"

"Don't."

"I'm just saying, we should talk it over. Hell, if someone pushed _me_down with biotics without warning, I'd-"

"We're in the middle of a firefight, Ramshiep."

Ares sighed. He never did have much common ground with Ash, though he did appreciate her teaching him some of the finer points of marksmanship. She was a self-made soldier, and he respected her family's history unlike most of the rank and file in SA. Human ingenuity aside, battles weren't fought easily, let alone against the discipline and order of the turians.

Still a major hard ass, though. No, not Major Hardas. He knew a Major Hardas in the Kepler Verge, and that one was surprisingly amicable. Or amiable. Either adjective was fine.

"Fine. Stay all repressed. Channel's still open if you wanna talk, though."

The channel was emptied of chatter, and all that was left was the battle. One step at a time, one geth at a time, one position at a time, and then the next. Right now, they were bunkered down and using a rotation between suppressing fire and field repairs.

They lacked the manpower (uh...beingpower?) to mount a full scale advance, so they played it smart, using their speed and tech to even the odds. Taking key positions while drones and diversionary teams distracted hostiles, they had been able to consistently outmanoeuvre and outflank the geth, usually with the help of one of the other two teams (as Kirrahe pointed out, the side not facing a gun is less likely to be shot).

They had rained down fire from the high ground, forced them into limited bottlenecks, and isolated them from their heavy weaponry. Kirrahe may not have had an army with him, but his team's battles were definitely getting the geth's attention.

A distant explosion rang in his comm channel, and Ares smiled. Shepard was on schedule.

"Flyers are down!" the radio crackled. "All right there, boys?"

Ares took a brief moment to scan the battlefield. The last platoon was down to its last geth. A hopper. With a well trained gesture to trigger his electrical impulses, Ares biotically threw it mid-hop into a wall and then returned to answering the call.

"Just about. Give Saren a hello from us when you can!"

Shepard laughed again. Virmire was a crucial operation, but he'd been able to keep them as casual as if they were back on the Citadel fighting Fist. _Fist_.

_Best move in my career. No doubt about it._

"Real ballsy, leftenant," he barked in the manner of the British, "giving me orders!"

The conversation ended for now. When he got up from his field repair, he found himself face to face with Captain Kirrahe.

"I see the Commander does things a little differently." STG's seasoned operative commented. "Impressive."

Ares nodded as they continued their advance. He had to admit, most Salarians seemed alike to him. Some were a little more nervous, others spoke more smoothly, and their skin tones could vary, but they usually gave him the impression that they were in a great hurry to either sell you an idea or get away from you.

Kirrahe, on the other hand, exuded _presence_. He was taller, had more spring in his step, and possessed a lot of the hallmarks of great leaders. So far, he showed that he could be both inventive and gritty, had a keen tactical mind, and wasn't afraid to be on the front lines with his troops. In fact, he was the one that got them there, through the muck and the explosions.

Ares loved that speech, in its theatrical glory. More than that, he loved working with STG, or at least Kirrahe in particular. He could see why they were the model for the Spectres.

"It is. You should have seen him with the mining laser at the dig site. Uh...though I suppose that's not very impressive to the finest operatives in the galaxy."

The wiry captain laughed good-naturedly.

"Perhaps you missed the part where we decided to arm a nuclear device, lieutenant."

"Perhaps you missed the part where I had to talk the Commander out of riding it to site. With a cowboy hat."

Kirrahe blinked, saying "I'd assumed that was a joke."

The lieutenant gave a chuckle that was at once both proud and resigned. "The Commander does things a LOT differently."

"Heh. That is true GETH."

The instant he issued that warning, Kirrahe fired a burst from his rifle which tore a hole through the first geth's lamplike head. It was the fastest reaction and one of the best shots he ever witnessed.

Lightning fast, Kirrahe sprang into action with his men while Ares did his best to keep up. So far, their speed, tech expertise and surprising tenacity had succeeded. Within seconds, they reached a strong position faster than the geth could get there and bunkered down.

The alien spray of geth firearms filled the air, but so far so good. The area had strong features for them to take cover by: remnants of old bases, the edges of cliffs and a few large boulders. The geth were singleminded and relentless, but the salarians were tough and inventive. And if Kirrahe was to be believed, they already had a tactical map of the entire area, which would have explained their unerring use of terrain.

As with each engagement, tech experts deployed drones or hacked strategic targets (the rocket troopers were a favourite). Meanwhile, Ares and a few others were kept in a firing cycle. They would suppress the advancing synthetics for nearly half a minute, then cool down their weapons while the next team took over. Between drones, their own rockets, and an almost unending hail of shots, they were certainly holding the line well enough.

The battle lasted long, but that was their objective, and their numbers only made them an even more tempting target: Not small enough to avoid notice, but not large enough to provoke more caution. Every second they bought meant that Shepard's odds of success were improving. These salarians were definite professionals; they never once complained about fatigue, save to report an injury which might interfere with their combat capabilities. Medics (and Ares, whenever he could) were quick to treat them and get right back in the action.

They had just about made it to the last stop before the AA tower when Commander Rentola slid in from the right flank and reported in, saying "Line's holding, captain, but they're sending in another wave, larger than the others. More krogan among them, too, shock troops. Cover's not going to hold those back!"

A missile exploded against the rock face, sending dust and pebbles down on them. Composed in the face of either shock, Kirrahe gave his orders.

"Then we make do. Sharpshooters are to fabricate cryo and plasma blasts, stop both the krogan and their regeneration."

Standard procedure. Effective, but insufficient.

The lone human piped up, asking "Captain. Who're your best hackers? The fastest, most efficient ones? What's the range on their omnitools?"

"Have a plan, lieutenant?" the salarian ace asked with a raised brow.

Ares ran his omnitool's _Battlemapp_program. In an instant, the data synced to the salarian team turned into a rough display of enemies and friendlies. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to mod out the orc skin he downloaded for hostiles, prompting Rentola to narrow his eyes. Kirrahe, by contrast, seemed oddly amused.

"Send them to that ridge to the west with any snipers you can spare."

"We can't afford to separate our forces!"

"If we try to defend everything, we risk losing everything." Ares commented, paraphrasing a popular human military doctrine. "Keeping them here only puts them in the line of fire. This way, they might actually draw off some hostiles while staying within firing range."

Kirrahe seemed neutral. Quick, perceptive, and to the point, he asked "What about the front line?"

Before the entire mess with Saren started, Ares would have been a lot more nervous, hobnobbing with the brightest salarian agents while fighting two of the most terrifying species in the galaxy.

Then again, once he joined Shepard, everything else seemed oddly relaxing. To a point.

"I've been reading on krogan strategy," he began, "before the genophage, it was about mass, attrition based warfare. Gain some ground, report in, wait for backup, repeat. The reports just pile up over time until it gets beyond our control.

"Saren's krogan seem to be following that old pattern based on what we've seen; that'll slow at least some of his formations to a crawl, limiting how many can reach and engage us at a time. Even if only half of the geth are commanded by krogans, that's still half the army moving slowly. It's not a big window of opportunity, but we have time before they band together.

"What works out for _us_is that their back up happens to be mostly synthetic. Focus a tech attack on the central line instead of the most powerful targets. Catch the front line in a crossfire-"

Kirrahe was kind enough to finish the thought for him.

"-and disrupt the formation and watch it fall apart. Make them swat their own bug bites, then pick them off when they're scattered instead of when they're supported. Good plan."

Rentola seemed a little iffy, but Ares was glad Kirrahe was on board. A few commands to his omnitool marked a token of his own respect for the lanky leader.

"Gesture of goodwill, here's the code data we've gathered on geth so far. It'll prime your hacks on any of them. Take it in good faith."

The captain was quick to accept it, but being the decent being and experienced operative he was, he asked an important question.

"Will Systems Alliance approve of you handing out the spoils of war?"

The suited human pointed in the general direction of the enemy.

"Systems Alliance will approve of me destroying geth and getting Shepard out of this alive! Besides, I've gotten pretty good at BSing the higher ups when it's the right thing to do!"

The grey skinned being laughed heartily. Shepard's laughs were throaty barks and rolling waves; Kirrahe's voice, by contrast, seemed like a sort of amused bird call or a fresh water spring.

"Like the way you think, Ramshiep!"

With the spare team being sent, the STG took up their positions, and once again, their metaphorical well oiled machine ran like clockwork.

The battle was long and intense, and it started to take its toll on the firing cycle. Omnitools blazed and rifles cooled while geth plasma slugs blasted against the cover, charring the landscape and structures. Saren's wave came at them, tough but inflexible, but the salarian line was as tenacious as a varren and as slippery as an eel.

Lines of geth were mowed down, some of them hacked into firing on the backs of their krogan officers. Ares's risk was an educated one: just as he predicted, Saren's battle lines were even slower. Any geth that got too close were blasted away with ease. The ones that got in range with backup were soon turned into strategic assets.

The krogans were tougher than he expected, however. A fair number were downed by sustained fire just as easily as any other species, but seeing them in action was unsettling.

They were not as strong as Wrex, nor as smart, and only a few of them had biotics at all, but each was like a biological tank. And like tanks, they were faster than one would expect. Those that got to cover regenerated at an alarming rate, bullet wounds and plasma charring sloughing off or knitting itself together. Those that couldn't fought with a ferocity that equalled or even surpassed that of a raging competitive online gamer, either charging towards the salarian line or turning on any hacked geth in their vicinity.

Seeing them crush a geth head with their bare fists and then cave in their chests with nothing but their crested heads was _highly_unsettling. Even more so when their limbs were shot and mangled beyond recognition and they were gnashing about like honey badgers.

_I can see why they thought the genophage was necessary. An army of these..._

After minutes of holding the line, the first of the krogan caught up to it. STG was prepared, however. The ground they chose was full of paths and killboxes to lure unsuspecting krogan into. Their formations seemed to split apart and scatter, only to gather and pick off any stragglers in their midst. One after another, krogan who broke through the cover were lured into pathways and bunkers only to be gunned down, their weapons hacked and their feet frozen.

Kirrahe and Ares shared a maintenance and first aid rotation this time. The krogan and geth hit hard. Some of the squad died, others had some bad injuries. Their horns were a popular target, so all they could do was patch them up with medigel and hope for the best. The salarian Ares was treating was simple; all he had to do was pop his shoulder back in place. Simple, but painful.

_Just like the Blitz._

Despite their losses, Kirrahe remained the very model of a salarian captain. He still kept up his pleasant demeanour, encouraging his troops, taking care of what injuries he could, getting those who could fight on their feet, and sedating those who couldn't.

_He must have seen a lot of action. He knows the situation, but he can remain confident._

They'd just patched up the last of them from that wave, and Kirrahe and Ares were back on suppression duty. As they picked up their assault rifles and made their way to the frontlines, Kirrahe decided to strike up a conversation.

"Looks like Commander Shepard was right to send you as a consultant." STG's captain quipped, a comment which left Ares feeling absurdly pleased with himself. The salarian casually dropped a bomb by asking "By the way, it's not my place to suggest anything, but have you ever considered command?"

Ares continued to go forth, but his mind was returning to the past. He remembered a place that was considered a utopia, only for it to become a battlefield. The name of that battle evoked glory, honour and valour, but all he could remember was those who lived and those who didn't.

After a pause for the fallen, he answered.

"Tried it once in the Skyllian Blitz. Found I'm a lot more useful giving brilliant advice to great leaders."

Kirrahe caught that silence. Ares knew, not just because salarians seldom missed a thing, but because the agent was bloody brilliant. But like any self-respecting member of STG, he knew better than to let on that he did, and left that development as it was. Instead, he moved on.

"Shepard must be an excellent one, then, if he inspires such loyalty in his squad. I can tell. You're not just following orders by being here. You believe in him. And he has good reason to believe in you."

_Believe in me? Huh. I'd never thought of it that way._

"Heh. I, uh, wouldn't know. I just shoot things."

"You're good at that, too."

Kaidan was right: looks like the aliens were just like them. This camaraderie, at the least, seemed extremely familiar.

As they got to the front, however, they heard the sounds and cries of an engagement.

"Already?" the lieutenant exclaimed to the captain beside him. "They shouldn't be here for a few minutes!"

"INCOMING!"

¬A blazing artillery shell ripped through the air and into one of the operatives, tearing him to shreds. For the past few weeks, Ares thought he was used to that thanks to Wrex. The gag he suppressed told him otherwise.

The familiar echo of biotics, the feeling of the air being grasped and forced alerted him to something. Well, that and the alarmed exclamations of their right flank. However, unlike the bass that he was used to, these attacks produced a sound like thunder.

Three figures. Inhuman like the nightmarish rachni he'd fought on Noveria, despite the fact that he'd fought alongside one of their own. More heavily armoured than the synthetic juggernauts behind them, snarling and yelling defiance. If he'd been a salarian, he would probably think that this was a poetic encounter.

His brain had barely processed all of it and his body was reacting out of reflex. Almost automatically, he shouted "Krogan Battlemasters!", diving for cover as he did so. A wedge packing weaponry a Spectre would notice forced open the line, with shotguns, rifles and rockets.

Three of them. Three of them had stormed through the defensive line, a squad of geth shock troopers behind them and explosions and gunfire all around Ares and Kirrahe. One was gunned down by the hacked synthetics, another taken out with a sniper shot to the head as he turned to biotically hurl his compromised allies to destruction.

The last one stood his ground. His barrier was up, but Ares thought there was nothing he could do. The salarians were out of range, he had no other back up, and his sickly green armour was starting to tear and break. Then, with a feral roar akin to that of a thresher maw, the reptilian tank waved outwards. The familiar bluish purple tinge filled the air like a sonic boom as the barrier was turned into a grenade, sending combatants flying.

The ground withdrew from his feet. The sky seemed to welcome him. Then, as if it was trolling him, it sent him down again, rolling through the dirt as he struggled to recover.

Shaking free of the dizziness, Ares gasped at the sight. Looks like it paid to have a greater constitution than the salarians.

The surrounding team was either dead or incapacitated, against rocks or on the ground. Kirrahe was the first to get up onto his knees...with the krogan advancing towards him.

Images flashed in his head. Instants which felt like eternities. Elysium, and the Blitz. The same situation. Getting up, stunned, a squadmate helpless. A shotgun's flare. A reprisal that came too late.

_Not this time._

The krogan turned his head, snarling at the source of the tech burst which had staggered him.

"Try me!"

He obliged.

_What was I thinking?_

He had only one shot at this. One shot to get it right. Or else this would simply be a continuation of the Skyllian Blitz.

A biotic cannonball crashed into the charging krogan's heel. As the battlemaster slipped, gunfire ripped through his arms, causing him to drop the heavy shotgun he was using.

Ares took the chance and ran towards it.

A right hook lashed out, only catching air as its intended recipient ducked and rolled right past it, emerging with shotgun in hand. The krogan tried to pivot, but a blast of gunfire sent him falling.

And with that fall, Ares climbed. Nothing else on the battlefield mattered anymore except taking down this one hostile.

He stepped, weaved his way past geth fire, sprinted like never before in his life on the frontlines...and leapt onto the krogan. Which was like riding the Mako just as it was boosting off a cliff, only without seatbelts.

The krogan was hardly even forced down, and he violently shook like a carnival ride. Ares almost slipped, came close to accidentally firing the shot he was saving, fumbled on the hump...

...and fired a point blank blast, right to the back.

The krogan went still, so suddenly that Ares fell right off, not even having the stamina to stick the landing. And yet, as he began to get up, his jaw almost dropped.

There, with its vital fluids oozing, was the krogan. Snarling. Slowly reaching outwards. Trying to rise.

So he shot it again. In the face, this time.

A flood of emotions were injected like a stimulant. In fact, the rush of endorphins and adrenaline might have had something to do with it. Horror, fear, relief, an infantile form of masculine pride...and for some reason, closure.

That was when he spotted the geth over him.

"Oh, come on-"

The lamplike head exploded. And he was reminded of the fact that he wasn't alone.

Without even looking, Kirrahe helped him to his feet.

"Steady, lieutenant. You did well."

Ares almost laughed uncontrollably at the situation which had just transpired out of necessity. Sobered by his proximity to death, however, he kept his cool. He'd laugh about how he had a krogan rodeo of death later.

"You too, captain."

The next rotation moved in to relieve the battered lines, and his vitals were finally calming down (at least according to his hardsuit's biometric scans).

Outside of the almost mechanical way they maintained their gear, they didn't do anything. Didn't scavenge the shotgun, the krogan, or talk about the skirmish.

All they had was a silent acceptance. A reverence for the mutual salvation which they had delivered.

The calm didn't last, however. Soon, they were up...and aware of their increasingly dire straits. Reports were coming in from the teams of how Saren was reacting in force. The bomb was being armed, so all they had to do was survive until extraction.

Suddenly, a voice crackled through the comms. And it wasn't the sort of crackling you look forward to, like with bacon.

Kaidan hailed the crew. His voice, while concerned, still exhibited the same silent strength and determination he had become known for.

"Geth inbound...I'll hold them off, Commander, don't worry. This bomb is going-"

The transmission ended there, cut off. Geth jamming protocols, most likely.

His heart began to race again, alarmed at the increasingly FUBAR-ness of the situation. A thought in his head calmed him down, seemed to remind him that this was all within expectations. That he had to talk it out or he'd seriously lose his shit.

Not one to ignore a plea for mental stability, Ares hailed Shepard while he could.

"...You need to help Kaidan. We can hold on for awhile longer."

The brusque drawl of the commander, even over comms, was as blunt as a krogan charge.

"Don't be a tit. You're coming home, Ramshiep."

"Commander, I-"

"_You_ stopped me from arming that nuke personally." Shepard declared, the weight of his words as real as if he had been there in person. "_You_ said I was the only one who could do this. You remember what _**I**_said?"

He remembered. Back when the plan was in its infancy. When he finally saw the depth of feeling Shepard felt for his crew.

"...That if I was so sure of it, I had to live to see it."

"Which is why I'm stopping you from making a sacrifice for the second time today, you crazy bastard. You've seen me bang heads with Wrex today. Trust me: your skull would be comparatively easy to get through to."

Ares had to smile...even if it was tinged with a sense of futility.

_I had a bad feeling. From the start. If I'd mentioned it, would that have helped anything?_

Shepard ended the transmission, and just like that, the battle returned.

Some orders were transmitted, but Ares could barely recognise them. The passage of war seemed to stretch and blur; all he knew was a sense of where to go and the urgency of getting there. And for some reason, everything was reminding him of the Blitz.

Their small band had been whittled down considerably, but things were simpler now. Since they didn't need to hold any lines, they didn't have to stay in one spot for very long except to set up tech traps.

The geth tried to engulf them like the waves of Virmire and came pretty damn close, but agility, resourcefulness, persistence, and proximity mines meant that the STG operatives always had a way out. Ares's biotics were invaluable to them as a form of crowd control, either for small, tightly packed squads or high value targets.

Close to the end, as the team made a dash for the extraction point, Kirrahe's second-in-command let loose what seemed to be a long stream of alien curse words, flowing flawlessly in their profanity. An impressive feat considering that he took a bad wound to the side.

Kirrahe was the first to turn, gunning down the few pursuing geth that caught up. Ares was next, and the two of them doubled back to clear space for the downed commander.

Rentola grit through the pain, his words mincing their way out.

"Captain, you have to go on without-"

_This must be a sign that I'm getting old before my time: When everything starts to remind me of something else._

Having resolved to do everything within his power to pimp slap the past back in its place, however, Ares spoke up. And before Rentola had finished his sentence, no less!

"The hell we are! I'll cover you! On your feet, Granola!"

Chagrined at the fact that his name had been mistaken with an earth snack bar, Rentola irritably retorted "It's RENTOLA!"

Kirrahe wordlessly lifted Rentola, slinging one arm around his shoulders. Salarian or not, he had strength and training that could match almost anything the Alliance had.

"Shout at me on the ship!" he pre-shouted above the sound of his own assault rifle. A hopper attempted to leap over the retreating team, but a well timed explosion of his tech armour ripped it to shreds with strategic materials turned into a directed frag grenade.

Thankfully, now that Shepard had made his move, their path was clear now. The geth had lost two thirds of their number, sending them to either Kaidan or Shepard.

The commander's team tore through the synthetics sent to fight them (and Ares noted with a huff that his three man squad had been just as capable of wiping them out as Kirrahe's three full teams), and soon they were on the ship.

The commander didn't say much. He just clasped arms with Ares, said he was glad that he made it on board, and asked him to settle the salarians in at the cargo hold with Wrex and the others.

Understandably, nobody felt much like talking. Everyone had lost something of value that day. Wrex simply said he needed some time to think. Tali was still coming to grips with the day's revelations, as was Liara. They weren't military types, so this was a harsh reality.

Garrus, oddly enough, seemed alright, but like Ares, he found the tension hanging over everyone oppressive. Ashley had it worst. She felt responsible for Kaidan's sacrifice, and wouldn't talk about it.

He needed to talk about it, though. Talking was how he made it through his life, whether through a joke or a confession. Sharing burdens or dropping them entirely, simply knowing that someone was listening to what he had to say. It might have been small, but he just needed to feel that he mattered. That the soldiers mattered. Every life, every choice. Not as a strategic picture, but as living beings.

So once again, that left their guest stars as the only beings that Alan Ramshiep could speak with. Happily enough, they were glad to see him. Rentola included.

"We did it. We completed the mission."

"Yes we did."

A factual statement. Nobody could argue with the results, or the necessary sacrifices. On paper, it seemed like a small price to pay to get a step closer to stopping Saren.

But the memories he had told him otherwise.

"But we didn't win."

"No. No, we didn't."

That surprised him. Even after getting to know Kirrahe as a great leader, Ares still fully expected him to endorse the bigger picture.

Perhaps he did. Perhaps he simply understood the rank and file, and liked to keep things in perspective. A reasonable stance, given how much importance he attached to firsthand experience.

Whatever the reason, Ares was glad for it, and he shook hands one last time with Kirrahe. Within the eyes of each salarian, he saw his old squad from the Blitz. The same hopes, the same despair, the same will.

_Kaidan was right._

"Well...this is where we part ways, captain. Things are going to get worse from here, I believe."

Kirrahe smiled, and his tone and gestures bespoke a quiet confidence. His eyes held a softer sadness, but also acceptance.

"STG always expects the worst. But for an optimist, you're quite capable. It's been an honour, lieutenant."

"The feeling is mutual, captain. I wish you all the best. Maybe we'll work together again sometime."

The captain allowed himself a chuckle.

"Shepard's team and mine...the stuff of legends, isn't it?"

**Author's notes: Wow. That was LONG, wasn't it?**


	6. Like a Salarian

**Author's notes: Thanks for all the support, guys, it always means a lot! This is a slower chapter, one that sets things up for the big finale. Hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: Mass Effect? Not mine. It's Bioware's. Why you ask?**

Mass Effect: Shepherds

=========================  
Systems Alliance N7 Log  
Username: Ares23  
Password: ****  
WELCOME, LT. RAMSHIEP  
Entry 12 (2183): Everything's happening so fast. My head's a mess, we lost one of our own, and now we're on lockdown. I never thought I'd be one step away from a court marshal. Then again, I've seen stranger things than that these past few weeks thanks to Shepard. Like the fact that when we were extracting from Virmire, he insisted we treat Tali for her damaged suit first...before removing that pole from his torso. Good times.  
EDIT (2185): And then he had to top THAT. Good to see Shepard hasn't changed. Uh. Well, you know what I mean.  
=========================

Alan 'Ares' Ramshiep stood in the ambassador's office. Surprisingly, he was here by choice.

"Lieutenant Ramshiep."

The nasally voice caught his attention, and Ares turned and saluted.

"Ambassador Udina."

"I've looked through the reports you submitted."

_Ah, yes, the aptly named dummy journal. Just enough facts to keep the truth out of it...as well as any hacks he could authorise._

"And?"

Udina scrunched up his face. He didn't seem happy...then again, he never seemed happy with anything. Probably the result of too much ambition.

The middle aged politician spoke, and freely gesticulated to express his frustration with these political time bombs on his hands.

"Quite frankly, I don't care what mad fantasies you're writing about or that you're complicit in the commander's schemes. If that's what you need to do to keep a low profile, I'll even buy that you've got some alien voices in your head, too. Just remember who signed off on your orders, and just who you're observing for."

Ares didn't even bat an eye. He knew no Alliance soldier would have made it onto the Normandy without a damn good reason or a lot of political clout, but that all seemed meaningless now.

He was Shepard's man. Through and through.

"...Yes, sir."

"Remember. Keep an eye on Shepard. Intervene if you must. I know you're one of Anderson's little projects, but it's the Council that runs the galaxy, not him. If you want a role on that stage, you'll have to play by their rules."

He pretended that Udina's insight mattered, acted as if this advice for his career was a bitter pill...even though he couldn't give a vorcha's ass about it. So he put on a sullen face and a reluctant mumble.

"Yes, sir. One more thing, Ambassador."

Ares lit up his omnitool.

"Quarians are excellent technicians. The one on the ship could have traced my position based on my omnitool, you know."

_To say nothing of Shepard, not that you'll ever know._

"WHAT!"

Udina's shock was palpable and highly amusing. But if there was one thing Ares learned over the years, or even in the last stretch of recent history, it was how to keep a poker face.

"Which is why I had the presence of mind to turn it off and lock it down when I came here. I recommend keeping it that way and killing off the lines; standard procedure won't work. They won't be able to trace anything back to you this way. And the krogan is such a...volatile presence. You understand."

_Heh. I can almost hear Wrex now._

Udina adjusted his collar out of habit. His ambitions aside, he knew just how dangerous Shepard's team was. Every one of them.

"Y...Yes. That is...that is most prudent, lieutenant. Glad I thought of it. Just remember, Ramshiep, I'm counting on you to keep that man in line."

A ghost of a smile whispered its way onto Ares's lips.

"Of course, sir."

_Jackass._

With his meeting done, he met up with Shepard at Flux. That was where Anderson called for a clandestine rendezvous.

The commander clapped Ares on the back, and the giant's greeting made him stumble at the steps up to the club. He asked "So where'd you go, leftenant?"

Finally, he had a chance to smile in truth. Enigmatic, vague smiles were alright for narrative foreshadowing, but they only felt as good as the actual thing if you were one of those plotting characters.

"Just tying up some loose ends. Are you sure I should be here?"

Shepard smiled infectiously, but his words were spoken with great weight and care.

"Anderson put you on my ship. You made sure I lived through Virmire. Of course you should be here."

So they waited. And learned that Commander Shepard could not, in fact, dance. Nor pop it and lock it, nor shake his money maker, to say nothing of dropping it like it was hot.

The familiar fatherly figure of Anderson appeared. Surprise lit up on his face at how early the two younger soldiers were. Perhaps it had something to do with seeing them try to bust a groove on the dance floor.

Regardless of that, he was genuinely pleased to see them, as they found when they all took a seat.

"Shepard. Ramshiep."

"Anderson. It's good to see you."

As the club's repetitive beats tapped out in the background and a round of drinks was ordered, Anderson leaned forward. He always looked serious, but not in the anxious, conniving way like Udina. He was earnest. A quality which, as Ares found, was just as rare in other species as it was in humanity.

"You look a little worse for wear. Wish I could let you have some shore leave, but the problem is you're right: Saren has to be stopped."

Shepard's drawling reply came after he had finished with his drink. Ares was just sipping his own meekly. Alien liquors always seemed a little odd to him. He wasn't even sure if they had the right words in their vocabulary to describe the taste.

"Anderson, we CAN'T go after Saren, they've got the Normandy on lockdown."

Their superior officer leaned forward, and his raspy bass lowered to a whisper.

"Don't worry. I can deal with the lockdown, you just get your crew ready."

The duo exchanged a look, though different thoughts went through their heads at the time.

For Shepard, it was the protective instinct he had developed ever since Akuze.

"It's too risky. Security should be-"

Ares, on the other hand, was thinking of poetic justice.

"Udina's console would be a pretty safe place for Anderson to override the lockdown."

A shocked silence in response to the suggestion was punctuated by further sipping of the drink. Respect for the STG aside, he wondered why salarians thought mixing all these flavours was a good, marketable idea.

"What?" Shepard stated flatly.

Anderson cupped his chin, however, and added "Wait... That would work beautifully, thinking about it."

"What if Udina's in his office, though?"

Anderson leaned back and cracked his knuckles.

"Don't worry; Lt. Ramshiep isn't the only one learning from you, Commander. I'll deal with it."

Shepard smirked, and the rest followed.

"Looks like you learned well, kid." Anderson said with both pride and surprise. "But I never thought you'd ever suggest something like that."

Believe it or not, that statement was meant as a compliment. Ares had to laugh.

"Well, looking at Shepard's track record and my knowledge of how locked down heroes proceed, this will cause the least collateral damage."

"And the alternative?"

"Rally the populace into a riot to overthrow Udina and/or the Council."

Shepard seemed almost wistful as the image was conjured in their minds.

"Yeah that'd take too long, if we weren't on a time limit though..."

They both knew he was only partly joking.

As they exited the club, the comrades-in-arms took the time to shake hands. They knew that with the fate of the galaxy at risk, it was possible this was the last time they would ever meet.

On the way back to the Normandy, Ares's thoughts were on Anderson. Perhaps unsurprisingly, so were Shepard's.

Which might be why Shepard finally asked Ares (in one of those inhumanly long elevators) "By the way, mate, how'd you end up knowing Anderson?"

Ares gave Shepard a curious look.

"That's never come up before. Why ask?"

"Well, if we're heading into the maw of oblivion, I'd like to know a bit of your past, leftenant. Anything you'd care to share, of course."

"Heh. Fair enough."

He thought about where he was and where he came from in his career. In the grand history of grand histories, things were often divided into 'before' and 'after'. Some cataclysm, a paradigm shift, would be responsible for the greatness to come.

Ares wasn't sure if he believed that (he was a 'sum of our experiences' kind of guy), but he knew for a certainty that Anderson would be the catalyst for his own story.

"It was after the Blitz. Glory and big picture stuff aside, I was one of many soldiers who fell through the cracks. You hear about the vets who went on to do great things and others who quit or couldn't handle the stress...I was one of the guys in between.

"I had scars, but they weren't deep enough. I lost things, but I knew others lost more. I had nowhere else to go, nothing else to do, nobody to fight for...but I kept going on. Maybe I had other things I could have done, but I held on to my old beliefs, despite how empty they seemed sometimes.

"Anderson sent for me. Shrinks from all over SA were sending him their 'special cases', the soldiers that weren't unstable but needed an extra push. I was probably one out of a few dozen, most likely more, but he made me feel like I mattered."

No tears came. He'd already shed the old ones years ago. Instead, there was a fond acceptance.

"We just talked about the Alliance, the Blitz, and anything else that came to mind. He asked me some things about myself, had a little back and forth, and before you know it, I'm accepting an assignment.

"I spent the next few years after that in some specialist training, things to round me out more. Engineering, biotics, combat, tactics and command...I even made it to N6 training."

"Not N7 though?"

The lieutenant winked.

"Heavens no, I'm nowhere near as badass as you are, Commander.

"No, I didn't quite have what it takes to get to N7. I did do well elsewhere, though. After that, I went back to my unit. Did grunt work, mostly, tried to rebuild. Anderson would sometimes call on me if he needed an odd job done...and this is definitely the oddest."

Shepard nodded understandingly. The door slid open and they could hear the sound of the wind in their ears.

"Sounds like you two have quite a history."

Ramshiep shrugged.

"A few laughs, and I owe him a great deal. But I never fooled myself into thinking I was getting special treatment...just what he felt I deserved, like all the others he dealt with. I'm not his protégé. That's what you are, Commander."

"Well, he trusts you. And so do I."

"Likewise, Commander. Likewise."

With all this nostalgia floating about, it struck Ares as fitting that he would pay tribute to Captain Anderson...in Shepard's own eccentric, violent way.

Finding him at the cargo hold, he approached the colossus of a human, commenting "Shepard. Got something for you."

Shepard seemed almost confused...but intrigued as well, upon seeing the impious smirk on his lieutenant's face.

"Ares, we're about to do something important here."

An omnitool lit up, and a file was selected.

"Trust me, you'll love it. I planted a vidbug on Anderson. Full 3D imaging."

Shepard guffawed.

"You what?"

"I got the whole thing."

And there it was: The most satisfying punch they ever saw.

After the gales of laughter had died down, Ares wound it back.

"Now let's just sloooooooow it down..."

"Can you get the slo-mo voice on this?"

"Not a problem."

Suddenly, someone even bigger loomed from behind them.

A tremendous bass boomed forth in a singular "Shepard."

Flatly, its reply came as "Wrex."

Ares jumped in surprise, though Wrex paid him no mind. He was, however, oddly interested in the clip.

"...Now THAT looks like fun. Mind if I join in?"

"Uh, it's...it's a ten second clip."

Shepard vetoed that protest, however, saying "Sure. Just find a seat."

The battlemaster, who had seen centuries of conflict and horror, grunted in admiration.

"Hrrn. And here I thought only Shepard had a quad."

The commander laughed and affectionately punched Wrex on the shoulder...a gesture which would normally result in death had it been any other human and any other krogan, Ares noted wryly.

"Glad you're with us, Wrex."

The krogan smiled...which, Ares had to admit, seemed slightly more jovial than his usual snarls.

"Yeah, you're nothing without me."

**Author's notes: I know what you're thinking. How can Ares have an N7 journal if he never actually made N7? Well, let's say that Udina pulled some strings to give him a highly encrypted journal for reports. Yeah. Let's go with that. Besides, does it really make that much of a difference? XD**


	7. Showdown of Ultimate Destiny

**Author's notes: Thanks for your patience, people reading this story! I was busy working on a little bonus after that, so hopefully this should be approaching completion soon! Hope you enjoy the finale of the first game in the series!**

**Disclaimer: Mass Effect and its assorted spin-offs, products and material are the property of Bioware, now and forever.  
**

Mass Effect: Shepherds

=========================  
Systems Alliance N7 Log  
Username: Ares23  
Password: *************  
WELCOME, LT. RAMSHIEP  
#SET PROGRAM FORWARD (contacts:: OnScreenMenu, talispin, vaGARian, liara_tsoni, skeletonking, will. , t_wrex, minerva_rs)  
##SET CONDITION TRIGGER  
###TRIGGER LINK BIOMETRICS  
####INITIATE POSITIVE BIOLOCK  
#####CONCLUSIVE NEGATIVE LIFE SIGNS WILL FORWARD MESSAGE. CONFIRM Y/N?  
Y  
Entry 15 (2183): If I don't make it through this, let this be what remains of me. All my affairs were set in order long ago at the Skyllian Blitz, but that was in a galaxy without the Normandy. Now, we face a greater threat than the batarians or the geth. We face a force that threatens all life itself.  
I was just a soldier. I neither shamed nor distinguished myself, and thought the only differences I'd make in life were the small ones. Then Anderson put me on the Normandy, and Shepard gave me a voice. Serving on this ship has been the greatest experience in my career. I've learned so much, and seen even more. I've known a few guys who treated units like families, but none of them can hold a candle to the commander.  
Shepard, it's been an honour. Thanks for taking me in, and believing in me. And, ah, for taking my advice on what not to destroy. Also for all the talks. I don't have many friends who can discuss _Galaxy of Fantasy_, _Quasarcraft_, or _Guild of Greatness_, believe it or not. You'll get most of my files, so mind you take care of them, alright?  
Tali, take care. I hope your pilgrimage goes well, little sister. Can't imagine it being otherwise, you're a bright one and the fleet is lucky to have you. Whatever the case may be, I've made you a Flux mix, since you like them so much. Also added some human travel songs, just for some variety, and a couple of krogan country songs for a few laughs (look out for _Krushing Like An Angry Female_). I know life's hard, but keep your spirits up. There are people like us out there, too, to whom species doesn't mean shit, so don't give up. The galaxy needs more beings willing to make it a little better than it was before. Keelah se'lai.  
Garrus, it's been a blast. Not gonna lie, life's a bitch. Can't really tell you whether you should work the system or remain a straight ferrous slug (FEEL THE WEIGHT). That's really more Shepard's domain, but know that you couldn't have a better teacher. You're a fighter, and one who fights for what's right. Just try not to do anything stupid, alright? I won't be there to be a shiny distraction. That's why I'm giving you some useful combat data for your hardsuit and visor. Just remember to enjoy some downtime, alright?  
Liara, the galaxy's going to get darker for a number of reasons. I can't pretend to know what's going on, and I haven't really grasped our...situation...but know that I really am proud of you. Doesn't matter where the feeling comes from, it doesn't stop it from being true. Yours will be a long life, I hope. Perhaps a little human wisdom wouldn't hurt: Live one day at a time, doing what you love.  
Joker, you're the man. Best damn pilot I've ever seen, even if your mouth's bigger than the drive core. Don't ever think of yourself as anything less than a good man, alright? Because seriously, that's what you are. I've sent you a few links and files. Think you might be a little interested in them.  
Ash, you may be a hardass, but you're a fair one. Godspeed. Though we may walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we shall not fear. His rod and His staff, they comfort us.  
Wrex.  
Sis. I'm sending this to you because, whatever our differences, the fact that we love and respect each other is beyond doubt. If you're getting this, I've probably given my life in service to a greater cause, which is a strange thing to say for a slacker like myself. Hope I can say that at the end of the day I haven't wasted it. I certainly hope you don't think that. Tell mom and dad I love them too. There's a whole lifetime ahead without my charming personality, after all.  
EDIT (2183): So, we made it after all. Well, I'll just keep that entry there. It's nice to have something inspirational written every once in awhile.  
=========================

On the forsaken Eden (the mythical one, not the planet named after the myth) that was Ilos, three warriors sat in that most infamous of vehicles, the Mako. Behind them was the path of destruction they had blazed, ahead was an entire array of geth armatures, ready to blast them to bits.

"So, uh, there's the Conduit."

"Yeah."

"And the geth."

"Yeah."

Ares inhaled deeply. They'd faced odds like this before, but all that heavy artillery was worth some worrying.

"Well, maybe we...maybe we could...go around or something. I've seen this thing scale mountains. Right, commander?"

He looked hopefully at Shepard, hoping that there was some plan. Some alternative. All he saw, however, was the same look that Wrex had plastered on his face: anticipation.

"Commander?"

That single word was almost a plea.

Wordlessly, Shepard cranked up the ship's audio, revved the engines, and put on a classic operatic theme from Earth: _Ride of the Valkyries_.

Wrex seemed almost happy. The battlemaster had never given him much more than a second look and never included him in his 'dream matches' between squadmates, but lately he seemed to follow Shepard's lead. Which is to say, jovially leading him into danger.

"Buckle up, kid. This is where the fun begins." Wrex said with more than a hint of bravado.

Ares complied hurriedly, but couldn't help complaining, if only so that what they were about to do wouldn't seem so utterly insane.

"Why is it that whenever someone says this is where the fun begins, it really just means that shit's about to hit the-"

Shepard put the Mako in drive.

"HOLY CRAAAAAAAAAAAP-"

What followed was a symphony so discordant it was almost harmonious. Shepard conducted in his seat, his feet on the controls. Wrex focused his gaze on the Conduit like a predator. The geth pounded on their shields and plating, rocking the vehicle as it shot forward at devastating speeds.

Ares cut his scream short after almost biting his tongue. His innards shook in ways he didn't think were possible, and in their mad charge, he reached an epiphany just before hitting the miniature relay. The power, the charge, the music...

_The Mako's turned into another Shepard._

That was his last thought before going through the relay made him black out.

When he regained consciousness, what surprised him wasn't the mangled geth, the fire, the ruins, or even the fact that they had made it out alive and onto the Citadel. No, he pretty much expected all of that.

It was the fact that Wrex was so in his face that he could smell him. And it wasn't fragrant.

"Alright, on your feet," the mercenary gruffly mumbled as he pulled Ares from his seat. "We've crashed the Mako more times than we can count."

Ares stood up, and almost hurled. Fighting back a gag, he weakly staggered out and onto the Citadel's streets.

"Not...through a mass relay."

Ares slipped, but Shepard caught him in an instant. And somehow, the look of trust on his face restored some of his fortitude.

"Don't you quit on us yet, leftenant. One last stop."

For awhile, he thought things would be pretty normal. Blast some geth, ignore the horrifying picture before him, ride the elevator to the Council's tower...

...Oh. It was stuck.

Before he could even protest, Shepard had already turned on his suit's magnetic, and Ares hastily followed his leader. The elevator's doors crashed open, and the trio found their way on the side of the Citadel.

It was quite a view. It was chaos. It was amazing.

And it pretty much detached itself from Alan's thoughts, so he had to coolly reiterate to try and get a grip on the situation.

"So...we're going to fight our way along a vertical surface so that we can put a stop to Saren, destroy Sovereign and save the galaxy."

Shepard sniped a geth in the distance, as accurate as ever. Wrex prepped his shotgun and shrugged.

"Slow day, in other words."

That deserved a look. One which Wrex matched. They both seemed equally incredulous at the other's sentiment: Alan's surprise and Wrex's ambivalence.

"Oh, come on." Wrex stated with such calmness that he almost seemed reasonable. "Like getting mind raped by an asari while discovering the rachni wasn't any less shocking."

A bit of rage flushed on Ares's face, though his helmet masked it. He raised a hand. Paused. Tried to think of what to say. Then, deflated, lowered his hand.

"...It wasn't rape."

Wrex blasted a trooper that had got too close.

"So it was consensual."

"And you're into mums." Shepard chimed in.

"That...I...but..."

"Good thing we didn't bring Liara along," the krogan noted.

Shepard nodded, adding "I know, around her, that joke would be way too soon."

That prompted Ares to reply even as he reactivated the last of the turrets and turned to suppress the last of the advancing hostiles with his assault rifle.

"That's my daughter you're talking about."

It was fortunate (though not for him) that there weren't any enemies around. It let Shepard and Wrex turn to him, and even through their helmets, he could tell they were waiting for him to follow up.

"Well, she...um...we didn't...it...Oh, what's the use."

"Well, you tie your tongue up like she does."

"Must run in the family."

_I hope this whole imprint thing pays off, Benezia._

_How should I know? I'm not even real, I'm just your subconscious role playing._

_Heh. At least you're starting to sound like me, even if I've got your memories._

They finally made it to the tower. Finally, things were starting to look normal again. And for a change, the tower's abundance of stairs actually helped by providing cover. Against Shepard's tactical expertise and sheer firepower, the remainder of Saren's troops were destroyed and the team prepared their ascent.

Ares looked to his teammates and their not-so-grim determination. He wondered if he'd made a difference by being there, if he'd changed anything for the better. His thoughts raced through his life and the choices that brought him there.

But roads not taken were for poets, not soldiers, and right now he had to be one over the other.

As they approached the summit of the tower, where the galaxy's greatest decisions were made by less than great minds, the sentinel faced the battlemaster. Where he and Shepard shared certain qualities, Wrex seemed like a clear cut opposite of Ares: blunt, intimidating, unafraid of conflict, and, oh yes, huge.

"Wrex, in case we don't make it through-"

"Which we will."

"-I just want to say, it's been an honour serving with you."

Wrex didn't face him, though he did smile. He was doing that more lately, so it was easier for Ares to tell the smiles from the snarls.

"Hmph. You're still soft, kid." Wrex rumbled in that rough bass of his species. "But I guess even soft humans can fight to the end. Your species is alright."

"Why Urdnot Wrex, was that a compliment?"

His squadmate shot him a scowl which seemed to say "Spread that around and I will destroy you."

"Uh...thanks."

When they reached the top of the tower, what greeted them wasn't a villainous soliloquy or verbal threats. It was a grenade.

THEN came the villainous soliloquy.

"I should congratulate you, Shepard. Your words made my will waver, and Sovereign had to affirm my devotion. Now I am improved. The perfect being. The next step of evolution."

"Oh, great." Ares mumbled. "He's one of _those_nut jobs now."

"What's a nut?" Wrex inquired.

"I expected more from you, however! To think you would come with only the battlemaster, when you have destroyed the salvation of his race. Typical human arrogance! You will need more than a single ally if you hope to succeed!" Saren declared from the top.

Ares fought the urge to yell that he was standing right there, despite his bruised ego.

"Alright," began Shepard, a sudden tone of disappointment in his voice. "Stay with me here. You were worried you were getting indoctrinated so you let the SENTIENT DEATH MACHINE bent on DESTROYING ALL ORGANICS implant you?"

"I... I, er... I mean-" stammered Saren, his still-Turian arm coming to his head as if he were in a haze. "I only, that is, you... You don't understand! What happened was-"

Ares had been clinging to the ex-Spectre's every word, and it took him a moment longer to realise the thundering 'koom' that punctuated the end of Saren's gibbering.

Heat vented from Shepard's Widow, and the Turian simply smiled, augmented eyes closing gently.

"Thank you, Shepard."

The look on his face seemed almost beatific as he fell to his doom, crashing through the glass.

Wrex shrugged as Shepard moved to the console, muttering "Well, that was simple."

Sure enough, Vigil's program worked and Shepard had access to the Citadel. While normally he might have relished the opportunity to do some good hacking, the situation warranted that he contact the Normandy at once.

Joker's smart voice came through the system, bearing none of its usual snark. Given that a sentient warship was engaging the might of the Council, it was understandable.

"Commander, I'm with the Fifth Fleet and they're ready to deploy! Just unlock the relays and give the word!"

What surprised him wasn't the fact that he spoke up immediately.

It was the fact that Shepard seemed to be hesitating.

"Shepard, we have to help the Council!"

"Why? Do they owe us money?"

The humans faced the krogan voice of dissent.

"They've done nothing for my people or yours. Why should we bleed for them?"

Shepard spoke, but not harshly. He chose his words carefully, as if he were preparing to disarm a bomb. Which was ironic, considering that his biotics could simply smother a bomb and that his methods were probably as destructive for anyone stupid enough to resist.

"They've been less than useful, leftenant. Any reason why we should care?"

He thought about everyone he knew, in all their strengths and weaknesses. Human, asari, quarian, turian, salarian...all of them different, none better than the rest.

...Well, he had a hard time seeing the hanar and volus as species to be taken seriously, but he was only human, after all. The elcor ambassador was alright in his books.

"This is bigger than all of us. It's not about the Council, it's about what they represent." Lieutenant Ramshiep stated through his helm in hushed tones. "If we can't stand united against even a single Reaper, what chance does the galaxy have when they really return?"

Wrex shook his head and retorted harshly. Blunt words, grimly spoken, but true.

"We'll stand even less of a chance if this single Reaper wipes out most of us. If you just charge in all at once, you're not getting through this without a lot of blood. Save your strength for Sovereign, the geth can wait."

Shepard looked at both of them. It seemed like it would be an eternity, but the urgency of the matter lead to a swift resolution as he turned to the console.

"Well...I do like the idea of making them owe me big time."

Ares smiled and sighed in relief, adding "And isn't that the harshest punishment of all?"

Wrex shrugged and simply said "Hope you know what you're doing, Shepard."

The lieutenant surmised that after Virmire, nothing short of an actual cure for the genophage would lead him to blows with Shepard.

Shepard gave the orders, and once they were cleared, he turned back to his cronies. Henchmen. Squadmates. Whatever.

"Now, time to stick a fork in this thing. Check if Saren's dead."

Wrex was quick to draw his weapon.

"That, I can do."

A short trek led them down to the fallen turian, and Ares realised that this was actually the first time he saw him up close. The gaping hole in his chest was a pretty good sign he was dead, as was the shard of glass which impaled him.

Not one to leave a job unfinished, however, Wrex promptly put a bullet in Saren's head just in case.

He felt a little sorry for him, used by the machines, with only empty bravado and ancient voices to lead him onwards, a shadow of his former strength.

_Maybe that's because I sort of know what that's like. Right?_

_Well, sort of._

Ares hailed Shepard on the comms.

"He's dead, Shepard. For how long, I can't say."

Wrex turned sharply, his pistol holstered and his eyes questioning.

"What do you mean _for how long?_"

"We're fighting eldritch abominations from the depths of dark space. We've seen their cyber zombies. Until it's decisively finished, death is just a temporary setba-"

That was when the inhuman screech ripped through the air. The ground trembled, waves of force, sent them stumbling back, and like some horrible Frankenstein's monster (or a salarian experiment gone wrong), the turian seemed to rise.

"What the hell!"

They tried firing upon the husk, but a biotic field as red as human blood and as vicious as a supernova threw them onto their backs. As the two very different characters began to get back up, Ares directed a question at Wrex.

"You have centuries of experience and you're surprised?"

"I've killed more turians than I can count, fought skirmishes all over the galaxy, and joined Shepard on this insane mission, and nothing ever did THAT!"

_And you! You **worked** for him and you didn't say anything?_

_I'm sorry, I was too busy being indoctrinated to notice._

_...Touché._

Wrex put up a barrier and Ares activated his tech armour, both warriors glowing in preparation (which is a sentence which would make little sense anywhere else but this particular period of time and technology).

What was left of Saren was burning away, a mechanical skeleton left behind, nothing but a spine, a head and a few limbs. A powerful shot from the higher ground boomed through the air, ripping through the creature's skull, but it wasn't even staggered. It simply turned and fired what seemed to be a gigantic laser beam from its chest, demolishing the platform upon which Shepard stood.

As Shepard fell, his squad tried to suppress the monstrosity. It moved like lightning, leaping about like some horrific science fiction monster (like those aliens from...that...movie...with the aliens). It weaved past shotgun pellets and assault rifle slugs alike, and before they knew it, Saren's husk was upon them.

Ares continued to fire, but suddenly found himself lifted up. Pressure was on his suit, claws tore at the ceramic plating, and its filters caught the barest scent of dead flesh, ionising air, and metal. A surge of lightning shot through the cyber beast's arm, and the scrambling of Ares's HUD was only a mild reflection of the agony shooting through his nervous system.

A being charged with the force of a frigate, crashing into the literal remains of Saren and causing it to drop Ares. The tangle of wiry steel and condensed flesh and scales rampaged through the grounds of the tower, biotics and weaponry flaring. Wrex finally got the upper claw, and a vicious, biotically charged elbow forced the skeleton to the ground. As he began peppering it with shotgun blasts and Ares rushed to provide cover, however, a forceful sweep swatted Wrex like a mere pyjak, into a wall with enough force to stagger him.

The machine shrieked, and Ares had to repress the primal sense of fear. Shepard was just getting out of the rubble, but the machine was charging up its cannon again, particles coalescing like a signal of death.

"WREX!"

_Can't stagger Saren. Can't end him. Shepard's not up yet. Only thing to hope for is a defence. But I can't-_

_We can._

Suddenly, he felt calmer. Calm enough to remember his training, from both aspects in his mind. He imagined a wall, strong and resolute. He pictured the weapon, drawing on images from the imprint of the matriarch.

Particle beam: sustained fire, variable force, high energy output.

_Don't use a static layer. Use a shifting one, cycling through...like a river, or a whirlpool. Imagine water. Imagine water._

With that singular thought, Ares threw up the barrier, a wall of shimmering force standing between the battlemaster and the beam.

And it held.

Benezia didn't mention the strain, though. Saren howled, continuing his assault, but Ares was starting to feel the toll. He inherited memories and training, but not conditioning. His head felt like it was about to explode, his spine tingled like nobody's business, and the rippling barrier was taking a beating even he could feel. That and, to his great annoyance, his nose was bleeding.

And still he held on, because none of that mattered. This was the battle which would determine if the galaxy lives to see another day.

Besides, he could always complain later.

Despite that extensive prose, however, the entire event took place over the span of a few intense seconds that felt more like a star's life expectancy. And like a star, he was starting to feel like collapsing. The barrier wavered, and he dropped to his knees, trying to fight the headache.

Those seconds were all the others needed, though. Wrex was up and fully charged, running to get to the flank. Saren (or Saveren) turned to target the krogan...

...only for another shot from the infamous anti-materiel rifle to crash through its hips.

The husk lost its support and began to stumble. Even then, it pivoted, sheer biotic force levitating it to face Shepard...

...who had tossed aside his rifle and thrust a biotic fist through its core and spine, the sheer raw power turning it into something with the force and protection of a Mako at full speed.

Ares acted before Saren could. With the last vestiges of his focus, he honed in on the synthetic's weaponry. A warp sphere, swirling with deadly vortices, mutilated the rocket chambers within its area of effect, and an explosion rocked the shoulders of the turian skeleton as the projectiles failed to exit.

Shepard stared defiantly, even as Sovereign had his puppet raise a spindly talon arm to rip the commander to shreds. Another biotic sphere ripped through the arm at its joint, forcing it back with all the force of a point blank shotgun blast...which was precisely what tore it off immediately after.

One more scraping, metallic howl escaped the husk before Shepard charged his free fist with another macrobiotic envelop, reared back, and delivered one hell of an uppercut.

The howling stopped. The skeleton fell apart and began to disintegrate. The combatants dropped down in fatigue...even Wrex, who was starting to heal through the burns and slashes he suffered.

And yet, even with his bloody nose and migraine, Ares was the first to get up (shakily) and pump a fist, exclaiming "YES! WE DID IT!"

He should have known that would jinx it, because an explosion prompted them to look up.

"Oh, fudge."

Before they could react, Shepard had already forced BOTH of them to who knows where with a double biotic push. THEN he shouted "Get to cover!"

Ares didn't know what happened. He saw barriers, explosions, and muscle memory somehow caused him to raise his own cocoon of biotics. A good chunk of the Citadel and Sovereign came crashing down like thunder from the apocalypse, and after the first pounds to his already taxed head through the barrier, he finally blacked out.

_Did we do it?_

_I believe so. You picked up my techniques admirably. Though I must admit, I never thought to warp the weapon chambers._

_Guess you could call it human ingenuity. We'll try anything in a pinch._

_Yes. Your species always held great potential, for both violence and courage. No amount of study can prepare anyone for that...and perhaps that's what the galaxy needs against the coming storm._

_With Shepard leading the charge._

_And his friends beside him, you among them._

_That's right. No man is an island. Even if they've got the personality to match._

_He'll need help. Everyone does. Even Saren, however futile it was._

_Working to make the galaxy a better place is never futile._

_Ha. You're sentimental like a maiden. But somehow, you seem wiser than most would suspect. Why is that?_

_Simple. Like you, I see the galaxy for what it is and work to make it what it can be._

_I wish you well. You probably won't need me any longer. But do take care of our daughter, won't you?_

_Well, that depends._

_On what?_

_On whether I'm still alive. Because this seems suspiciously like one of those 'before the end' conversations._

_You spend too much time on the extranet._

As the echo of one voice faded, another took its place.

"Lieutenant!"

Ares groaned, finding his other boss and a medic standing over him. At the other end of the chamber, Wrex was being helped up and tended to, despite his belligerence towards the aid.

"Anderson...am I glad to see you. Hope my medical care covers falling sentient warships."

"Hang on, kid, you'll be alright."

Suddenly, he remembered and got up. All the aches, bruises, wounds and burns came back at once, but he managed to cry out "Shepard! Where's-"

BOOM.

A thundering biotic charge blew apart some rubble, and out of the dust, a figure rose like a phoenix. An eccentric, violent, but firmly moral phoenix.

"Gentlemen. Wrex."

"Shepard."

The two humans, arguably the sanest Shepard knew, looked at him and allowed a short moment of silence.

"So." Anderson began. "Did you have any idea that he'd be so...?"

"No. Did you?"

"No."

Ares smiled. Despite the pain throughout his body, that action seemed effortless.

"Cool."

Victory was an easy matter, once they had been treated and rested. Now that Shepard made humanity the saviours of the Council, everyone was dying to kiss his ass (thankfully, not literally on both counts). The Council accepted the humans as its newest member, and the look on Udina's face was priceless when Shepard suggested that Anderson become the human Councillor.

With Sovereign destroyed, the crew prepared to go their separate ways, though with the promise that if Shepard ever needed them, they'd be there at his side. Wrex had a renewed purpose and would go to his people, just like Tali. Garrus would reapply for C-Sec and look into Spectre candidacy, and Ares worried about the possibility that the galaxy would have yet another Commander Shepard on its hands.

Ashley was on the track to a promotion, though Ares's name didn't come up. Anderson asked if he'd like him to do something about it, but all Ares needed was a continued posting on the Normandy. Liara had a similar thought, and decided to remain with them.

A small laugh escaped his lips as he made the rounds with Garrus and Liara. Shepard was off with Tali, Ashley and Wrex, so it was up to him to accompany their turian badass and their asari doctor.

"What's up, Ares?"

"Nothing. Just thinking, about all the first meetings. Remember ours?"

"You mean when Shepard sent you out shining, distracting those thugs long enough for both of us to get a headshot each?" Garrus recalled good naturedly. "I'll never forget it."

"Is it a military thing, the way you can fondly recall violence?" Liara asked.

"Well, it's not strictly military." Ares countered. "Think about it. Haven't you ever had a particularly funny biotic attack, something that made your enemies look ridiculous?"

Judging by her blush and silence, there was a time or two she could recall.

"Relax, Liara." Garrus offered. "Laughing at the expense of others seems to be one of those things we share."

"You be careful, bud. Things get a little rough without a tank."

"A...tank?"

Ares flushed.

"It's...a gaming term. The guy who soaks up damage. Forget about it."

"Riiiight."

"Not our fault your three fingers weren't primed for our Guild of Greatness games. If you could have joined in, you'd have learned those terms."

Liara piped up, saying "Actually, it is. Shepard holds the credits, remember? Don't they have turian-specific tools for that?"

"Oh right."

"Besides, I prefer my conflict a little less virtual. GG, scrub."

The human's eyes widened in surprise, and the turian smirked noticeably.

They shared a chuckle immediately after, clasping hands.

"Gonna miss you, Garrus."

"Well, it's not forever; we'll still see each other, I'm sure. Shepard will make sure of it; I've never seen a man more devoted to his crew."

"His family, you mean." Ares corrected. A sad thought crossed his mind and he voiced it, adding "But if you love something, you'll set it free. That's why he's letting you go your own ways instead of turning you into his own private army."

"Well, nothing that says we can't be both."

"Ahhh, check your C-Sec manual, I'm sure there's a subsection about privatised militia."

Garrus shrugged.

"Maaaaybe I can get away with abiding by the spirit of the law, not the letter."

"Well, you ever need someone to BS the boys upstairs, give me a call. First time's free, but after that, I'll be charging you."

Garrus barked a throaty laugh.

"Like a human, eh?"

"No sense just giving away perfectly good writing."

Finally, they reached their destination. A familiar club with a familiar beat, where just outside, Commander Shepard waved to them.

"What I'm wondering is why don't we just go to Chora's Den?"

"Well, it kind of...broke. In the attack."

Shepard welcomed them in. A large table with refreshments for everyone was prepared, and according to him, a third of it was on the house, a third of it was compliments of the patrons, and the remainder was paid for by Shepard.

Tali, Ashley and Wrex were already in the middle of a drinking contest, to show there were no hard feelings whatsoever. Which is to say Tali watched meekly while Ashley and Wrex ingested alcohol and expelled profanities.

After getting everyone seated and served, Shepard looked over the entire table with pride. Ares felt a twinge of poignancy; most times, they were split up into squads on missions planetside. This might be the last time they were all gathered for awhile.

"I'm glad you all made it."

"We wouldn't miss this for the universe, Shepard."

Standing up to his full, intimidating height, the scruffy haired commander raised his glass. The substance in it was...green.

"You all know me better than anyone else, and I'm glad that you were my team. It was a strange trip, but we had a bunch of laughs besides the danger. That wouldn't have been possible if not for all of you. I know I'm not the easiest commander to work for, but frankly, none of you had a choice in the matter."

That prompted a few laughs from the table, Ares included.

"But seriously," Shepard continued, "whatever anyone might say, this wasn't just my victory. It belongs to all of us. We've shown that badassery, grit and valour can come from any species. I've seen some of the best and some of the worst that each of our races has to offer, and I'm proud to say that I've had the brightest on my side.

"We've all got long roads ahead of us. When the Reapers come, it's going to be hell all across the galaxy. But remember, we're a team, and we can count on each other. Those cuttlefish try anything stupid, we'll blow them back to hell and dark space. So make your toasts, because the real work is on its way."

Ashley toasted the fallen. Wrex and Tali gave tribute to people and homeworld respectively. Garrus made a funny one about politicians, and Liara mentioned the future.

Ares went last, being the one with the quietest presence. When prompted, he got up and raised his own glass, smiling. He knew what to say.

"Here's to the crazy bastard leading us."

Approval sounded all across the table as Shepard looked on, his eyes full of laughter.

Wrex got up to slap Ares on the back, sending a painful reminder of the past battles through the human.

"I'll drink to that."

With laughter and camaraderie around him, Lieutenant Alan 'Ares' Ramshiep collapsed into his chair with a wry smile.

This was what he was meant for.

**Author's notes: And so ends the first game! BUT WAIT! There's more? And something else after that? Stay tuned to find out!**


	8. The Skyllian Blitz

**Author's notes: Well, here we are with the bonus! Finally! I enjoyed writing this, guys, and thanks a lot for reading it! Hope you enjoyed it!**

**Here we are, in the Skyllian Blitz! Prequel? Character shield? What can I do about it? Well, let's just read and find out!**

**Disclaimers: Mass Effect? Bioware. Star Wars? Lucasfilms. _Let's Groove_? Earth, Wind, and Fire. How do they come together? Find out below!**

Mass Effect: Shepherds

=========================  
Systems Alliance Psychiatric Division  
Username: FCrane  
Password: *********  
CC: Captain Anderson  
Anderson,  
Not sure if you still check for messages, but you've always stayed on top of the game. I've found someone you might like. I know how hard it is to find good help these days.  
This is Minerva's little brother, but you wouldn't be able to tell from how he acts. He's not the sort of precision machine she is; he's a thinker of a different kind. He was in the Blitz. One of our saner troops on the ground. His group got banged up pretty badly and he was one of the few survivors, but he's surprisingly well adjusted.  
I can't declassify his files what with the doctor-patient confidentiality thing, but then again, you probably want to see him for yourself. See if he'd be useful for whatever it is you have in mind. All you need to know is that he's fit for service.  
Just stay alert. Knowing you, he's the sort of case you'd like to take under your wing.  
Cordially,  
Crane  
=========================

The 41st Division crowded around the comm system, its frequency locked onto the gunship they had sent out.

"Ground control to Major Tom! Are you reading us? What's going on?"

The channel buzzed in response before a grizzled human voice answered.

"This is Tom! Raiders are on their way, they've broken through the stockade and-"

An explosion masked the swearing on the other end of the line.

"Major! Come in!"

"We've been spotted...they're packing heat, too. Can't make it back. We'll hold them off, delay them, maybe take out some of their heavies. Use that time to prepare a defence."

"What? No!"

"We don't have a choice! Form a chain of command, the person with the most experience takes over. Make me proud, marines. Tom out."

The call ended, leaving only an electronic beeping. None of them could tell what was going on, but the distant explosion and the sudden update on their tactical readout made them realise.

The team sniper and advance scout slid down the ladder from the rooftop and confirmed their worst fears.

"The bridge..."

They knew what that meant.

Alan 'Ares' Ramshiep stood back, his mind numbed by what just happened. As one of three members of N-School in the division, he was allowed command positions in the unit's structure. Which is a fancy way of saying that he sat closer to the radio with a couple of others in case he needed to imperiously repeat orders or give summaries.

"...The Major sacrificed himself." Alan said. "We have to make sure it wasn't in vain."

A thick set juggernaut of a marine growled as he pounced to his feet, grabbing the sentinel by his shoulders.

"How can you even say that? Tom's DEAD! The Major-"

A clarion voice rang through. With Tom dead, he was now in charge. Matt was a full graduate, brandishing N7 on his chestplate, sandy blonde unkempt hair, and a keen mind, even if he was full of himself at times for all of those things.

"Can it, both of you! We need to stay focused! Do you think Tom would want us fighting each other when the enemy's at our gates?"

The large marine set Alan down, cursing while the slighter one gasped in relief. Meanwhile, their heroic senior faced the scout.

"What's the situation, Hawk?"

Lanky, slight, yet strong enough to perfectly handle a sniper rifle's kickback and recoil, Hawk was a man of few words. While their gear was mostly standardised, he had one of the few custom jobs: the source of his nickname plastered in red on the side of his helmet, which he now carried under his arm. His lethal focus had allowed him to climb the N ranks on skill alone, but his lone wolf tendencies ensured that he only barely passed or failed due to a lack of teamwork.

"Bridge out. Long way round. Can't get their heavy transports through the terrain and our AA guns are still running, so they'll come at us on foot. Try to turn the guns off."

The large marine stepped forward. Murdock may not have been part of N-school, but he was outspoken, befitting his preference for offense. He was with Hawk since day one and was his favourite distraction.

"It's either us or them. Maybe we can lure them into urban warfare, drag it out into cat and mouse."

Matt shook his head and recited knowledge almost verbatim from their codexes.

"Slavery is an integral part of batarian culture. They've hunted down people hiding from them all across the galaxy, so concealed positions are not advisable. We need to bunker down-"

"-and stay sitting ducks? We should make a sortie, cut them off-"

Alan walked off. He would wait for this argument to hash itself out unless they needed him; right now, he was more worried about getting his thoughts together. He looked around the room, seeing his squad and the same fear in their eyes. Some of them were close to him, others were virtually strangers, whether with a helmet on or not.

He went to the one person he could safely say was his friend. Someone he knew for years. Right now, she was in a corner moping, and not in the adorable way he knew whenever she lost out in an argument. Or a game of Quasar.

"I can't believe this is happening..." she said blankly. Alan offered her his hand and pulled her up.

"Don't worry. We'll make it through."

Her look was questioning, though not towards him. "Do you believe that?"

He shrugged.

"Hey. I've been saying that for years and we're still alive, aren't we? Besides, we haven't actually made use of our shore leave yet. We should get a drink at least, right?"

Mariko laughed. The purity in her voice lifted their spirits. Sharing an age with Alan, slim as asari clothing with bright, purple eyes, she was a spacer like him. What bound them, however, was the fact that they were both biotics. Military assets which were still not yet fully understood, but encouraged all the same.

"Ares."

The call shocked him, but he responded promptly. All eyes were on him, and he hated that.

"Do you have anything to add?"

So apparently they were done, or at least stuck. He'd only caught bits and pieces, but his mind was thinking of a strategy. He may not have liked the practicality of battle, but he couldn't deny getting a buzz out of a good plan.

"...Maybe we can do both. A fighting retreat. It's better than just sitting blind, and it lets us update our strategies on the fly. But if we're doing that, we'd better move fast and claim our best positions. The tram, the causeway and right here."

Matt nodded in agreement.

"Right now, that seems to be our best bet. A squad will lure them in with the tram. Nothing fancy, just bleed them a little and fall back. Ares, I want you on that squad."

That surprised him, truly.

"Me?"

"You've the third highest N rating in the squad. That gives you priority."

"I've only made it to two."

And it wasn't even his choice. His sister insisted, and being the pushover he was, he complied. What surprised him was that he actually made it that far.

"That's two ranks higher than most of us. But if you need a reason, you're also the best medic, a biotic, and a tech expert besides. Taylor and Uraki should help you with battlefield control. You'll fall back to the causeway where another squad will back you up. The heavy hitters will be there to cover you. Hold out as long as you can there, then find your way back to the base."

"Sir, I don't think-"

"That's an order. Now move out, or I'll move you myself."

That was the end of it, so the sentinel couldn't do anything except prepare his equipment and leave with the squad's two other biotics. Mariko he knew, and even her light equipment was familiar to him. The other guy, dark skinned and muscled like a vid star, wasn't someone he knew particularly well. A biotic, usually in operations with other members of the division, trained in most firearms.

Which was why, as they rode the tram across the desolate rails, he figured this was as good a time as any to start knowing him.

"So, Taylor. How long have you been a marine? We're about the same age, after all."

The fellow young man raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"Already? I'm not big on forcing these talks."

"What, the talks that let you air your grievances and keep you from becoming a psychopath? The ones that let your squad know the warning signs on what to say and what not to say?"

An awkward silence settled in for a second as their new friend tried to figure out what to say. Mariko broke the ice with a guffaw.

"Ares is a big fan of those talks."

A laugh escaped Jacob Taylor. He shook his head, but the tension was easing ever so slightly.

"You're a real piece of work, aren't you?"

Alan smiled at the more casual atmosphere, though he was aware that it would end in a little while. That realisation, along with his own doubts, sobered him considerably.

"So I've been told. But honestly, you don't have to talk if you don't want to. Just trying to pass the time on this thing. Lord knows I'm the last person you'd want in charge."

His old friend shook her head disapprovingly.

"Oh, c'mon, Alan..."

To Jacob's credit, he pulled his weight in the team dynamic. Rather than allow the conversation to get heavy, he diverted them.

"How 'bout you? Nineteen and already N2, huh?"

Alan nodded gratefully. If there was one thing he liked, it was talking about himself (in whatever context was appropriate).

"Yeah. My family's not strictly military, to be honest, but we did have a policy: Biotics were to be trained and used in Systems Alliance. That's why I had a head start. It seemed like the only way to make use of these gifts we had, considering all the unlucky ones who died on the off chance we can 'use the Force'."

"Use the what now?"

Blood rushed to Alan's face. As a nerd, he didn't know what was worse: being nerdy in public, or not being understood.

"Uh...never mind."

Moving past the practically ancient reference (unless you counted the _New Extended Definitive Unabridged Star Wars Expanded Universe Primer Encyclopaedia Compendium Database, Volume 86_), Jacob continued on the original train of thought with a dedicated focus.

"I think I know what that's like. Taken into a biotic outreach program, fed the whole 'this is a gift' speech, spending the first few weeks worrying about accidentally killing someone."

Mariko took the next step, asking the only vaguely normal thing anybody could ask about BAaT.

"What did you get, the protein bars or the energy shakes?"

"Both."

"I know that feeling. Like a soggy paper bag, huh?"

"On the plus side, double calorie day was a good excuse to pig out."

To be sure, BAaT wasn't always pleasant, and their trainers weren't the nurturing types, but poor nostalgia made a better distraction than nothing. They talked about methods, mnemonics, tests, ass kickings, and all the little things they missed out on as a result. Things like proms, movies, and holidays.

When they ran out of things to talk about, they found that they were two thirds there.

"So, Mariko, huh?" Taylor asked.

"That's right."

"But I always hear everyone calling you Mary. Why's that?"

She favoured him with a flat, dead stare. Which isn't a very favourable thing to get at all.

"Mariko. Ramshiep. Mary. Sheep. Do I have to spell it out for you?"

Realisation hit Jacob the way humiliation hit Alan and shame hit Mariko: slowly but surely.

"...Oh. I'm so sorry."

But a good product of his optimism meant that Alan eventually learned to laugh at his situation. Even if it did take him two years to do so.

"I used to think everyone naming me after the god of war and a constellation was bad enough. Then I met her, and it got worse."

His closest friend and near constant companion aimed a kick at his shin, which was juxtaposed against her laughter.

"Screw you, Ramshiep. Everyone was interested in the exotic Japanese girl until you came along."

Nimbly, he sidestepped in the tram, hanging onto the handlebars.

"Instead, you have only me. Life is full of these cruel ironies."

Jacob's soulful eyes took in the situation as he nodded.

"...Wow. The rumour mill wasn't kidding."

Then the inevitable question came: "...You think we'll make it out alive?"

Alan shifted uneasily at the enquiry. Command was never his style, but he had to hide that. Partly with jokes, and partly with actual work.

"Well, if I think enough, maybe we'll survive with most of our limbs intact."

The jokes didn't work, at least not in the way he expected. There was some pity there, which meant that they could tell he was uneasy. But because they knew, there was also genuine support. For that much, he was grateful.

The tram came to a halt, its older tech screeching lightly from the stress. The hardsuited soldiers made their way out, and with all the training in them, began looking for positions to take up.

Alan pointed them to the sides of the tram's interior while he took the centre as the designated marksman.

"Lay down suppression fire. I'll keep the mechanisms online. Use biotics whenever you can, anything to keep them away or disrupt their formations. Once they start coming in force, we'll retreat. We don't want them flanking us in this thing."

His two teammates confirmed the orders, and with that, they got ready.

The wait this time was unbearable. It was the sort of wait he had when he was anticipating a vid tutorial session from a teacher, wondering if he'd have the day off or not. Only much, much worse and far deadlier. The tension in their muscles was pretty close to those times, though.

Then, they came. A wave of rugged armour and custom paint. Alan found it interesting that these pirates were comprised of different species; if not for the lawless aspect, it would be exactly like what the Citadel Council aspires to.

"Holy...there they are!" Jacob shouted. That was all it took, as the battle was upon them.

As the first few pirates were shot down, Alan took cover to give a break to his uncomfortably heated rifle. These Mattocks were good tech, packing considerable stopping power. They acquired them from the colonists to counter the old school armour favoured by pirates. Still, he had to admit that its higher heat generation threw off some of his rhythm.

Fortunately, his allies were picking up the slack themselves. Mariko was honestly a mediocre shot, but she knew enough to drive hostiles wherever her allies could get a clear hit. Her singularities were some of the best he knew with the widest fields, and the groups of pirates floating around helplessly could attest to that. Jacob finished those off while Alan picked off stragglers.

The singularities being fired along with biotic throws locked down the enemy formation, forcing them into a bottleneck in the open field. While the brigands' shots impacted ineffectually against the armoured tram, the Alliance soldiers had a full view of their enemies. Jacob kept on firing until his rifle had to cool, killing some pirates and suppressing most of the others. Alan, on the other hand, chose his targets carefully, sniping those carrying heavier weaponry and others who moved past suppression. All three called upon their brain camp training, flinging pirates into the air or against the environment.

But as the skirmish went on and the minutes stretched, the waves grew larger and larger. More troops were pouring in through the cracks in Mariko's singularity fields, each squad packing better equipment than the next. As they set up barricades and brought in superior equipment, the tram's exterior getting dented, Alan realised something.

"Damn it...they were distracting us with their grunts! We have to fall back!"

With a flash of his omnitool, the tram's systems lit up and the mechanisms began to move it across the rails. The vehicle began picking up speed, its motors whirring while the three soldiers took cover. Shots pinged off the armoured car, one breaking through a rear window while the marines took cover.

Suddenly, something ripped through the front doors and blasted into the control panel. The tram groaned as it came to a halt, and Alan found himself staring at what appeared to be a red hot harpoon sticking in the terminal.

"Sunnuvabitch...! Bastards-"

Alan cut Jacob's curse short as he ripped the control panel off, his omnitool flash-salvaging anything left from the circuits to the projectile that shattered the controls. Knowledge honed in tech training came to the forefront, married to the rest of his knowledge base.

"Jacob, get a barrier up. I'm going to override-"

Before he could finish that sentence, another small explosion was heard. The tram's diagnostics revealed that its movement mechanisms were now firmly offline and beyond help, and another harpoon ripped through the tram doors, sticking into the roof.

"...Right, scratch that, get a barrier up and prepare to fall back when I join you."

While Jacob nodded and focused his mind into a biotic wall, Mariko rose to meet Alan's gaze, worry apparent in her eyes.

"Alan-"

"Go!"

With a reluctant nod, she made her way to the rear entrance, Jacob kicking it down. As they did so, she threw out one more singularity to prevent a flank.

His omnitool glowed steadily, servos and analytical systems whirring and humming as he did his work. Crucial systems were located and modified, components were salvaged, and his mind tried its hardest to ignore the vicious criminals on their way to kill all of them.

"Right...circuit breaker, check. Reroute power lines B through F. Disengage the power coupling. Remove energy bleed filters, and-"

The barrier collapsed, and the previously muted gunfire began clanging against the tram again.

"-turn off the safety relays. Got it."

One last command was delivered: a link between the systems and his omnitool. With that, he rolled away from the tram and out the back door, landing in front of his comrades and pointing.

"Let's go! Push that tram!"

Mariko's eyes widened in disbelief at the incredibly low tech suggestion.

"We won't be able to get it moving fast enough!"

"Not that way, the other way! Taylor, lower its mass! Mariko, push it with a field!"

Neither of them fully knew what was going on, but they followed the commands immediately. Well trained and strong, their biotics were able to get some purchase and the tram glowed with the enveloping fields. It slid and screeched against the tracks, but eventually, it picked up a little momentum.

Alan began stepping back, but continued to monitor his omnitool while the others fired at any pirates running past the tram on the rails towards them.

"Right, wait for it...now!"

A single command, linked between the systems. A simple measure designed to counter tech systems and shields, by delivering high yield commands and electrical charges for a singular purpose: an overload.

The tram exploded violently as its stressed power systems were pushed past the breaking point, rocking the ground and causing them to stumble. The tracks in its radius were beyond repair; it did a lot more damage to the hostiles that had begun crowding it.

With the last pursuers gunned down and the rest distracted by the debris barrier, the team took their chance and ran.

"Pretty damn impressive, war god." Jacob praised.

"You have no idea how pleased I am to hear that. Now let's bail before they clear the way."

It was fortunate for them that they didn't have to run that far, owing to the tram only serving to transport engineers and colonists to the edge of unclaimed areas.

Unfortunately for them, only Jacob was especially fit. He wasn't even breathing hard as the causeway came into view. Alan did better, but he could feel the ache in his muscles and the sweat on his forehead. And Mariko was barely keeping up, left breathless from the retreat.

She was on her knees by the time they saw the other marines on the high ground.

"There!" Jacob declared. "The causeway!"

"Y'know, now that I think about it, it's not so much a causeway as a wall. Look at it, we're over a ditch-"

A rocket blasted against the reinforced wall/causeway, sending some marines off their feet from the vibrations and the others into cover. The three of them turned around, with only the faintest of hopes left to be crushed by the reality: Their enemies had caught up.

Even as they started advancing backwards, however, something ensnared their adept. A net, yet not a net, seemingly made of both energy and razor wire. It charred her armour and produced shocks while pirates stormed the courtyard.

"Mari!"

Ares and Jacob got one each and began suppressing the rest, but a turian with a shotgun was upon Mariko while the batarians that went ahead of him were thrown off their feet. He took aim at the easy target, his shotgun cooled...

...and his head exploded.

A tech application disarmed the net, sapping it of its power, and Alan pulled it off, helping his friend to her feet. He turned to the causeway to find a hawk-painted helmet peeking over the battlements. Opening his channels, he connected.

"Thanks, Hawk."

A civil grunt was all he got in return. That and the blasts of a sniper rifle.

The trio made it to the lift, jamming it once they reached the top. That forced the raiders to either try scaling the walls or use the stairs, both exceptionally primitive methods of war. The reinforced concrete of their position, a trademark of human engineering, offered good protection from the heavy weaponry and snipers, while the marines rained down fire with impunity.

After treating Mariko and Jacob for some minor wounds and getting patched up himself, Alan made his way to the staircase. Matt had suggested that the biotics, still their best source of crowd control, defend the most accessible path after the lifts. Meanwhile, the rest of their firepower was focused on thinning out pursuers and taking out heavies.

Things went well for awhile, though Alan was mildly unsettled at Hawk's valid tactic to leave the bodies where they fell, clogging up the staircase for their enemies. The explicit statement of their mortality almost made him feel a twinge of pity for these raiders...until he remembered what they were exactly. After that, it was a simple matter of blocking out the noise, thinking about his squad, and accepting the guilty pleasure of how lucky he felt when a hostile left himself open by attempting to clear the blockage.

_It's a sad situation when a soldier has to sit still for three or five seconds, leaving himself open to gunfire._

But as with any real battle, things changed. They held for awhile, singularities, biotic fields and bullets holding the line, but chatter over the radio alerted them to a potential situation.

Their first casualty was at the battlements. A lucky shot, they thought. It had to happen.

The second was similarly situated. That puzzled them, because there were only the smallest breaks in cover. To make that shot from the low ground, even with their mass effect field based technology, was no small feat.

The third confirmed their fears: it wasn't luck, it was skill.

To avoid losing their unit one at a time, they fell back to another defensive position. Left undisturbed, the pirates began scaling the walls and assaulting the stairs in force.

Familiarity gave way to chaos as carnage erupted all around Alan. Behind him, armoured raiders that managed to get past the firing line engaged the marines, turning their formations into a bloodbath. In front of him, flamethrowers were brought in, clearing the stairway and forcing them back inch by inch. Jacob's barriers kept the worst of the flames away, but they couldn't focus on both the incendiary troops and their more numerous partners.

Of course, the Alliance is nothing if not resourceful and prepared. This constituted a paradigm shift, which might have explained why the enemy cluster in front of him exploded as a result of a rocket to their midst.

As the biotics got up, relishing the space bought with explosives, Alan looked to find the juggernaut Murdock firing rockets at anything hostile. Raiders were being repulsed for now, and he was thinning out the troop line at the lower ground trying to get up the stairs.

_Not a bad move, since we can't afford to expose ourselves to their sharpshooters._

Jacob shook a fist ineffectually, shouting "Damn it, Murdock! Watch it!"

The large trooper laughed as he fired another rocket which curved into an enemy heavy and its escorts.

"Hey! You guys give me a missile launcher, that's what I'm gonna use!"

Explosions rippled through the battlefield, but still they came. Alan didn't think it possible, but even now, the swarm of hostiles swelled even larger despite Murdock's occasional bombardment of the stairs. That's when a realisation dawned on him.

_They know we're guarding the walls, so they're blitzing the stairs!_

He didn't need to give any advice or announcements. The snarling, cursing, shooting band of scum and villainy (well, maybe not villainy, that was subjective) broke through Jacob's barrier.

The bursting field bought them some time, enough for Mari to shout out "They've broken through!", and the immediate reaction was to fire on the widening bottleneck. A dozen hostiles fell, and a pyro unit had its fuel tanks burst by a shot from Hawk, taking out its nearby allies. Yet more took their place and charged out, their armour in various states of disrepair from the Alliance defence. Alan was no longer the only thing stopping them from getting up, because he had blatantly failed to do so. Now, he was just shooting at anything that might die easily enough.

The most intense seconds of his life so far took place. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as everyone go to cover behind anything solid, peeking out, firing bursts. Fortunately, they'd prepared a lot of cover, but even that wouldn't be enough. He had to rethink his target three times because his choices kept getting killed, and even then the line was advancing. By now, their own armour was looking as ragged as the sets worn by their enemies.

"Back to the base!" Hawk barked. Everyone was getting ready to comply, but Alan spied their biggest soldier tinkering with his missile launcher.

"Murdock! Move it!" he shouted. But the large man only looked up, nodded...and made a dash for it.

Nobody knew what to make of it, except that he didn't die immediately because most of the hostiles were still on lower ground. He took a harpoon to the shoulder, a shotgun to the gut, had his armour suffer several shots, but thanks to instinctive covering fire from the others, a freakish constitution and sheer willpower, he made it to the stairs with a battlecry like an elephant.

_No, no, this can't be-_

The explosion which destroyed the stairs sent several hostiles flying, either to the floor or to their dooms. Many were incinerated or knocked unconscious by it as well, but still some remained.

Alan was speechless, as was the rest of the unit. Some fired in silent fury, others sank to their knees or went for cover. Mari was sobbing, he could hear her.

Perhaps what got his attention amidst the chaos was stillness: Hawk froze up.

"No..."

With a surge of adrenaline, he tackled him out of the way of some fire, launching another biotic throw into the chaos.

Hawk shoved him aside. He took aim, fired a shot that ripped through two batarians, then drew his sidearm, firing with cold precision into the heads of several hostiles. Turian, batarian, salarian, vorcha, it made no difference.

Alan attempted to offer fire support, but had to get their second highest N-school graduate out of there.

"Hawk, we're sitting ducks out-"

Ceramics shattered. Blood spurted. As still as when he froze, Hawk paused long enough to look at the mortal wound dealt to him, then to the one who dealt it.

Alan followed his gaze, finding a turian. Tall, pale skinned, with dark green stripes adorning his brow and mandibles. He had a sniper rifle of his own and blue armour with white circles on it.

Suddenly, the turian pulled a nearby batarian in front of him. Which came in handy, because the four-eyed criminal caught a few bullets to the face. Alan turned to find Hawk with his smoking gun in hand, falling.

"HAWK!"

That was it. With nothing else left there, Alan called for a full scale retreat, firing a tech overload as he guarded the rear. Even if their enemies were cut off from reinforcements, they still outnumbered and outgunned them. They had to regroup with the others to stand a chance and hold out.

In a retreating action, the squad at the causeway made it back to the main base. Alan once more found himself in the unusual position of leading his fellow soldiers, guiding them inside to cover and ambush points.

He thought he had time to see to Mariko, but one of the marines stationed there approached, telling him Matt wanted to meet him for a tactics meeting. He gave one last lingering look, pleading for something, he wasn't sure what. An excuse to not go? Comfort? Forgiveness? All he knew was that she couldn't meet his gaze. Their conversation would have to wait.

So it came to pass that Alan had to face a square jawed uber marine instead of his closest friend since brain camp.

"Matt."

"How many did we lose?"

His voice was matter-of-fact, calm. Understandable, since as their effective leader, he had to maintain perfect composure. Alan ran through his omnitool's list while trying to emulate that coolness.

"First squad was alright. At the causeway, we lost Hawk, Murdock, Foxtrot, Tristan and a third of the others. Their heavies are down, but we've got a lot of armoured infantry en route. They might or might not be waiting to regroup, since they were cut off. There were still too many for us."

Matt nodded and sent out a signal from his omnitool.

"Everyone to your positions. Mattocks armed, tungsten or incendiary rounds if you've got them, and I want all your melee omnitool apps ready."

Sure enough, Alan was back on crowd control. The same trio sent to the first battlefield took up a position at the central command terminal, ideal for monitoring the battle as a whole. The rest of them, including Matt, bunkered down behind makeshift cover or stood in ambush at the entrances.

Alan had been able to find a cache of old but functional flashbangs and had distributed them to the rest of the squad. Not quite as mobile or sustained as the drones used in modern riot control, but packing a lot more punch while remaining far less conspicuous. They weren't made for direct damage like frag grenades, but that was better for avoiding collateral damage in the base.

Whether it made a difference against alien biology or not (batarians in particular), it was better than nothing and still only somewhat better. Their enemies had proven themselves fairly intelligent and rugged; the antiquated weaponry would only buy them an edge once or twice before the battlefield got too chaotic or the raiders compensated for it, and the grenades weren't designed with modern fabricators in mind.

With a little breathing space bought, he went to Mari. Now back with his friend (and with Taylor having the decency to stay a respectable distance away), Alan knelt and faced her.

"Hey. Hey. Look at me. Look at me. We're alright, see?"

As she raised her head, he could see tears forming in her eyes.

"They're dead, Al...they're really dead..."

"I...I know."

Training and experience dealt with the worst of it. No awkward confessions, no breakdowns, just a quick admission of the facts. Even so, the pressure on both of them was staggering enough that they each needed a little help.

"Tell me...we'll be alright."

He stammered, pausing to try and muster his courage. Everything he had, every ounce of concentration, will and bravery was spent preparing for the fight.

_So why can't I keep enough to answer her?_

She smiled and placed a hand on his arm. A gesture of comfort. She was always perceptive.

"It's alright...you don't have to lie."

Suddenly, a voice broke through on external loudspeakers. Those with omnitools set to public mode had the same message blaring from their wrists.

"Attention Alliance!"

The voice was filled with distortion upon distortion upon distortion. A turian's double layered voice, filtered through a loudspeaker, penetrating air and stone, and repeated in isolated pockets throughout the room.

"I am Verus Cestas, current commanding officer of this warband. I've come to parley, and would speak to the leaders of your unit. You have my word, upon the honour of my colony, that I _will_keep my troops in line. If we fail to meet, then I will be forced to begin my assault."

Everyone looked at one another, uncertain of this new development.

Matt, on the other hand, didn't hesitate. He approached Alan, his face set in determination.

"We'll go and delay them with this meeting. It'll buy the ships time to get here."

"We? What about the command?"

"First sign of trouble, we fall back. But two of us should be able to delay them a little longer, however we have to do it."

Alan shook his head, but got up all the same.

"This will not end well..."

"We're just soldiers. There's only so much we can do. All that's left now is to hope our ships get here."

Without hesitation, Matt donned his helmet and walked out.

With plenty of hesitation, Alan started to follow suit. He paused at the door long enough to find that Jacob had caught up.

His newfound brother-in-arms shook his hand and clasped it. With a smile as sad as it was encouraging, the fellow biotic spoke, his voice low and focused.

"Careful. Piratical negotiations often occur at gunpoint."

"Thanks. I'd never have guessed if you hadn't warned me."

"Take care, Ramshiep."

"You too, Taylor."

Upon exiting the building, Alan was surprised. Their enemies had already amassed a sizeable force and were beginning to set up their equipment, even on the manmade terrain leading up to the base. A makeshift camp with its barricades awaited them, banners and symbols from a dozen different factions strewn all across it. The explosion of colour and weaponry was like some sort of renaissance camp gone horrible wrong.

And somehow, the worst they received were sullen stares and vulgarities. A salarian that looked rugged even by human standards took them aside and guided them through the camp. Not too far from its entrance, a group of various species gathered around the same turian that shot down Hawk. Here, his blue armour with white circles surrounded by white rings contrasted jarringly with his dark green face paint.

Military formality was the only thing keeping the two N-school graduates standing. The various positions of their enemies (some sitting, some standing, some lying down and some on crates or the backs of their allies) led Alan to believe that formality wasn't crucial here. Nonetheless, the turian met them with impeccable posture.

"You've fought with tenacity and valour," he began, "and I commend you."

He was well spoken. Pleasant. Disciplined, judging by the three batarian corpses held up as an example on stakes. Possibly ex-military, if there was such a thing in the Turian Hierarchy. Perhaps a more accurate term was 'discharged from official duty'.

"You must be Verus Cestas." Alan said. "You've given us a hell of a fight yourself."

He laughed. A few of his toadies tried laughing along with him, but were silenced by a steely gaze from the being himself. He smiled at them again, which sent a chill up Alan's spine.

"The spirits give each of us a gift. Battle happens to be mine. Now, you."

A clawed hand pointed at Alan.

"You were at the tram, weren't you? One of the biotics, I can tell by the amp on your hardsuit. Took out my commanding officer with that makeshift bomb of yours."

Matt turned to Alan. Through his helmet's visor, he could see he was mildly peeved.

_Careful with this conversation. It's like a proximity mine._

"Retreating makes it hard for me to keep track."

He was answered with a smirk. And an actual answer.

"Even so, a field modification like that deserves mentioning. That, and you've saved both our sides from pointless frontal assaults. Molek was a ruthless warrior but a poor strategist. He would be storming your gates by now and losing five men for every one that he killed."

Both Alliance marines didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

_As long as he's talking, we're buying time for-_

"Now let's get down to business."

Alan's chest tightened but he remained stationary.

"I would prefer to take this base with minimum effort and no casualties." Cestas confessed. "Can we not reach an agreement?"

_Be careful with this. If we drag this out too long, they'll probably shoot us-"_

Matt interrupted that train of thought.

"Your 'troops' are slavers, pirates and mercenaries. Even if this position wasn't vital, which it is, we wouldn't trust you with any 'agreements'."

The turian's eyes turned steely again. Alan noticed one of his hands slowly shifting to his heavy pistol.

"A great pity," he stated coolly, "but I understand your reasons."

Alan hurriedly spoke up while he still could.

"But if you wanted to do this with...what was it you said-"

"Minimum effort and no casualties."

"Then start a siege line and starve us out."

Almost as if he expected that reply (who are we kidding, he totally expected that reply), Verus's omnitool lit up and displayed the base.

"You command a military grade base that guards the convoys, stocking up weapons, armour, medi-gel and food. Besides that, it is entirely possible that you possess stims which will allow you to outlast any defenders, waiting for any number of ships a few hours away. I, on the other hand, command a rabble made for smashing and grabbing, armed for assaults, not bombardments. Not only would you outlast us, but you would also buy time for your reinforcements to arrive.

"No, human, I don't believe I will besiege you. Regrettably, an assault is my only recourse. I am, after all, paid to follow a schedule."

"I thought a frontal assault would be stupid." Matt commented.

"That's why _my_assault will be smart."

The steel smile returned again.

"I take the base, I take the supplies, the comm channels, and your AA turrets. A much more desirable prospect, surely you agree."

That was it, then. His mind was made up.

"Well, when you put it that way, the only downside is that whole death thing."

The turian barked a short laugh at Alan's quip.

"HA! You laugh in the face of death. Very good. Your unit is certainly worth killing, given the resistance we've received."

The marines began to step back, prepared for a fight.

"So this parley is at an end, then?"

Pirates, raiders, mercenaries and criminals all drew their weapons. All, that is, except Verus, who seemed mildly amused by the distrust.

"If I'd wanted you dead, humans, I would have made certain of it personally. I may be a mercenary, but I am turian. I own every decision I make, right or wrong. This parley stands, and you are free to go."

Alan sighed in relief, though Matt remained rigid as ever.

"I'm surprised," he commented, "I would expect someone like you to remain in the Hierarchy."

"I owned _that_decision, too."

With that, the two marines left the camp (though they picked up the pace when a warning shot landed near their feet). Matt was viewing a readout on his omnitool.

"The camp?" Alan asked. Matt nodded.

"I'll transmit it so that any help we get can make a calculated response."

"Their lines are going to move."

"Some info is better than none. And speaking of which, I've a mission for you. The access codes and operating systems of the base. Download all of them into your omnitool and purge the system."

Of all the things he heard all day, that had to be the most outrageous. Which he knew was nonsense, it only seemed that way because he viewed the base systems as a top priority. Everything beforehand could easily match it, probably.

"...What?"

"A last block, in case they break through and hack the terminal."

This mission was getting more and more complicated.

"I'm just going to ask again: Why me?"

"You're the last N-school graduate we have besides me. You have the tech training to-"

"No." Alan interrupted. "I didn't mean why I'm useful. I meant why trust _me?_Sure, I'm not useless, but I'm nothing out of the ordinary. I'm not even purely military."

Silence followed between the two awkward allies. Matt had never been anything more than a source of orders and a reliable commander to him, but with everything going on, he figured he had to get it out in the open. He had to understand why.

Eyes never turning from the base, Matt answered.

"In N-School, we train to think. To command. To lead. But before any of that, we're soldiers. As a soldier, I learned three things: Do your duty, follow orders, and trust your unit. It doesn't matter what you believe or what anyone says; you're with the 41st, and we stand together."

The sentinel paused in his words, if not his stride.

"I never...I never wanted any of this. The military, N-school, this bloody blitz..."

"Doesn't matter. It's your place. And you've earned it. The same as all of us."

"...Thanks, Matt."

Somehow, that unwavering faith encouraged him, even if it only flowed to him by association. The thought of a belief that unconditional, that sure, left him glad that his place was a simple matter.

When they returned, they hardly had time to talk with anyone else. Alan rushed to mod the base systems, getting help from another tech specialist in their squad. The rest of them prepped their gear for the coming assault.

An explosion was heard as soon as they completed the transfers and set up a tech trap for foreign access. The base radar gave a high pitched alert, juxtaposed against the blare of alarm klaxons. A quick look at the display, and his fears were confirmed: the anti-personnel turrets were down, and so were the sentries on the exterior. Only the base itself and their AA turrets were too strong for direct bombardment from infantry.

"Yeah. That's a lot of them, alright."

Matt raised his voice above the clangour of the base, taking up a position at their right entrance. Aside from the main passage, there were two separate stairways which lead to the main base that needed defending.

"Get to your positions!"

The telltale sparks of omnitools cutting through reinforced doors was heard, and Alan prepared with his fellow biotics. From the centre of the station, he may have been a bigger target, but he also had a better field of vision.

One door exploded, apparently due to a lack of patience of that particular squad leader. Gunfire burst through the air as the screams of the injured and dying were heard, first keeping pace with the beating of his heart, then exceeding it. The cacophony only got louder, and as the first grunt he saw up the stairs fell (a vorcha, of cause), the dull clang of metal on floor marked the second entrance being opened.

More mercs started to swarm in, but the heavily entrenched marines were holding their own in close quarters. Ares's trigger finger was having a field day as he blasted at vulnerable hostiles sent floating helplessly by Mari while Jacob switched to a shotgun which he gladly blasted into the throng. He was throwing out biotic throws almost purely on muscle memory, alternating flanks and picking strong targets. The rest of their squad joined in as their enemies began grouping into the killboxes, popping up from desks, terminals, and hastily built cover to flank them.

Just as they thought they were doing alright, however, a trooper sent flying across the room and into a wall told them otherwise. That and the band of krogan marching up the centre. Seriously, one of them even took the time to shout "It's not over yet!"

Before they could focus their fire on them, the krogan had already rushed forward and started picking up their fallen comrades. A shield both meaty and armoured took the brunt of the assault, even as those closest switched over to heavier weaponry. Alan tried to aim for the prominent humps of the krogan; no less armoured than the rest of them, but a bigger target than anything else on the field. Every now and then, a shot would penetrate the macabre barricade and force a krogan down, but another was always there to take his place, allowing them a peek at the batarians behind them. They must have been the ones bracing them against biotic fields.

Curiously enough, what worried him wasn't the advancing phalanx, despite the fact that it was returning fire and that half of its shields were actually aflame. It was what the formation was hiding.

_Vorcha were sent up first. Expendables, still enough for a meat shield. Then the krogan come in, armoured like tanks. Batarians are behind them, nearly as tough. But why haven't we seen any-_

It made it past the first blockades and then burst apart. Mercs, pirates, and raiders swarmed out with a variety of weapons, all as colourful as they were deadly. As the krogan fanned out to flank the occupied positions on the left and right, a mixed force was taking up the central path.

_I have to admit it: Turning the flank against us is pretty damn smart._

Cestas was there at the centre, surrounded by guards. He pointed out the terminal (and the trio of biotics) and commanded "Take those turrets and secure the base!", signalling a wave of small arms fire and forcing Taylor, Ramshiep and Uraki behind cover.

_No heavy weapons. Right. He needs this intact because he thinks everything is there._

Treasonous admiration for his enemy aside, however, Alan's Mattock kept on firing. High powered shots broke through armour, shoulders, knees, and whenever possible, heads. His recent modding of it increased its heat sink capacity, but it was still firing a little slower than he would have liked. Then again, that might be because the battlefield was much more chaotic.

What unsettled him wasn't the gore, bloodshed or gunfire. There were too many hostiles to worry about, so he didn't have time to look. No, it was the voices. The cries for mercy or defiant curses, many abruptly silenced. It didn't matter that half of them were alien, hostiles who got into more than they bargained for. The fear and fury before him was almost staggering.

As soon as he decided that he could no longer find strategic targets for his biotics (in other words, shit had thoroughly and completely hit the fan), he ducked behind the terminal and opened his comms to Matt.

"Think this might be a good time for those flashbangs!"

An alert pinged on his omnitool. The signal. It was a testament to Matt's military expertise that he got the word out before even speaking.

"Do it!"

The biotic band shared a nod. Almost in sync, they polarised their visors, compensated for feedback...and hurled the old weaponry into the midst of the mob. They could briefly spot several others flying through the air before the timer was up. Then they had to turn.

Even with his hardsuit's systems prepared for it, it still amazed him. A wall of light and sound flooded the room, dizzying both relevant senses. And if he felt that way, he only had to look at the stumbling, cursing, screaming throng before him to know their enemies felt it worse.

Research estimated five seconds of diminished combat ability, but that was for humans. He had no idea how long this would work on alien species. They might have had greater senses of balance or ways to adapt or compensate for the foreign element.

All he knew was that however small or large that window of opportunity was, the Alliance took it.

Spindly, beefy, large or small, shape didn't matter. The retaliatory gunfire was quite egalitarian. Again, an almost Citadel-like aspiration, were it not for the actual function. Pistols, shotguns, assault rifles, whatever they had, the steel storm battered the enemy formation. Bodies dropped as their visors traced survivors scrambling for cover.

As the flashbangs subsided, however, their enemies snapped back to full combat readiness. To his horror, they had used the corpses of their krogan to absorb the bullets and blasts, a grim repeat of their previous meat shield tactic. Within that emergency set up, he could spy an omnitool glowing. Suddenly reminded of his charge, he found the terminal displaying alerts against an ongoing hack.

_No! Already?_

Taking aim at the general direction of the omnitool, Alan let loose a series of shots, all of them blocked by a krogan corpse bleeding out its secondary nervous system. He couldn't see the omnitool's owner, but he could hear the typically higher pitched voice of a salarian.

"Commander Cestas! We've encountered a problem!"

"You mean outside of the obvious, Kidon?" the turian's dry, double layered voice retorted.

_Got to buy more time...!_

A batarian came into view, only for his head to receive a full shotgun blast from Jacob. His hardsuit alerted him to his biotic amp's readiness, leading him to once more reach out with his mind.

In an instant, his mind bullet met his target. The biotic projectile didn't break apart the krogan wall, but it did budge one enough to give him an opening to his target: the salarian.

"The base's terminal, it's-"

The single bullet was all it took, right between the horns. Greenish blood burst from his head as he slumped down...and his omnitool remained glowing.

The wall tightened again as he heard the contemplative voice of their turian adversary.

"Ingenious. They purged the terminal, which means all vital systems should be in the hands of one of their techs. Veliurn, take over. Scan for anomalies."

Mari ceased firing her pistol long enough to exchange a worried look with her two squadmates. All Alan could do was crouch in cover, too stunned to move.

A simple ping, barely heard over the gunfire, worsened his fears. The commanding voice of Verus Cestas validated them.

"Bring me the biotics. Kill the others."

Suddenly, a new swarm charged, a cadre of armoured batarians heading for the terminal. He'd thought that with both sides already badly beaten up, they could afford to take it slow. He was wrong.

Biotics staggered and delayed half of the charge, and supporting fire from the nearby positions took out more. Jacob was methodically gunning down any that strayed even a millimetre into his shotgun's optimum range, while Mari's singularities wreaked havoc on what would have been an overwhelming rush.

One batarian got close before Alan had time to return to the real world. Before he could grab Alan with a meaty hand, however, one of his eyes (and the surrounding area of his head) burst. The grisly wound alerted the sentinel, who smashed in the next attacker's skull with his rifle stock.

A small group of marines surrounded them, Matt leading the operation. Jacob initially protested the sudden change.

"Wait, what're you-"

The N7 graduate shot down another batarian, this time right in the middle of all four eyes.

"Get Ramshiep to safety! If those systems are compromised-"

A scream of blood rage was the precursor to the biological freight train which barrelled through their formation. One marine was trampled, another thrown away, but Jacob brought the krogan to his knees while the rest concentrated their fire on the reptilian behemoth.

True to his rank, Matt swiftly reorganised the defensive formation. The small squad surrounded the biotics once again and were swiftly closing the breach, when suddenly, something else jumped in.

It was just a batarian, no different from the others. Its armour was heavily damaged, though its savage spikes still stood out, and Alan had seen that shotgun model hundreds of times.

And that same batarian rushed Matt. A literal shoulder blade pierced his shoulder blade, and the raider ran straight into a wall.

He tried firing. Everyone did. The batarian would be dead in seconds.

Not quickly enough, however, to keep him from firing off a point blank shot.

A scream was heard, yet it seemed light years away. Even as their guards tried to get them to safety, Alan could feel himself slipping away. His friends, his comrades, were all trying to say a dozen things at once, but their voices seemed as artificial as the communications systems of his helmet.

_Focus. I've got to focus. Can't afford to slip away. Can't slip away. Can't slip. I'm...I'm the last guy from N-school...the last..._

_And what does that even mean? A letter? That's all it takes to mean I'm better, that I'm more suited for command? No. I'm going to do this because I **must**._

Even if he lived to be over a hundred and fifty, Alan would never understand how he got a grip of himself. Necessity, sheer willpower, or 'by default', all that mattered was that he found himself focused and ready.

A proximity mine stuck itself to a nearby wall. The explosion sent a number of the soldiers off their feet, but Alan quickly traced its source. Cestas was rearming himself, but a tech overload from the sentinel overheated his weaponry as well as any tech he held onto. Cursing, the turian stepped back and over a batarian's corpse, into the makeshift fort of assorted species just in time to avoid Alan's burst of suppressing fire. All the while, the energy pulse recorded on his omnitool was translated into a signal ping.

While his comrades gave him cover and moved to a more fortified position, more flashbangs were going off. However, with each wave, fewer and fewer enemies were affected as more learned to compensate. Still, with fewer enemies than before, that bought him enough space to deliver his next command.

"Anyone with a clear shot! Fire on the marked turian! Dispose of the bodies if possible!"

Following that command, the remainder of the 41st (some of them, at least) directed their fire on Cestas. He was well covered, and had a habit of deflecting incoming fire by pulling any nearby bodies in front of him, living or dead. Certainly, competent as he was, he lacked his species' proclivity for self-sacrifice. And the time he spent ducking for cover or blocking fire was time not spent on directing his forces.

Meanwhile, the few soldiers who had incineration applications on their omnitools or who brought incendiary rounds got to work on the bodies instead of on the remaining invaders. Any corpses left unattended were scorched to ashes, slowly eating away at the cover. Any hostiles who got out of the way found themselves without a krogan or even a salarian to stand in between them and the armour piercing rounds that followed.

It was a slow, hard fought few minutes as they hunted down Cestas throughout the base, but without his leadership, his forces had come to a halt. Their ranks and firing cycles, previously savage and unrelenting, were now in disorder. Many offensives broke like waves upon rock, but like a jet of water pressure, it was starting to wear them down. By now, they had been forced to pool their resources into only one squad per point, and Alan's brain was running out of synonyms and phrases that could be used to describe the carnage.

Every resource they had, tech devices, biotic amps, grenades, weapon mods, all of them were driven fully into keeping all manner of raiders, pirates, mercenaries, thugs, criminals, and scum from taking over. All the while, Cestas was keeping a safe distance away from the marines, trying to direct operations while keeping bodyguards around him.

Alan's squad had just taken out a team made of salarians behind a krogan shock trooper (probably hoping at least one of them could get in a hack) when his omnitool gave a frantic beep. Hastily taking cover, he activated it and couldn't believe his eyes.

Alliance reinforcements had arrived. Their estimated time of arrival was within the next few minutes.

The signal spread to everyone and he had announced just as much, though Jacob noted "Great, and we only had to fight _all of them_before they got here!"

Not that he could blame him. The reaction time and overall strategy of Alliance fleets meant the cavalry often came as clean up, not rescue. Resentment from the rank and file over such a bigger picture strategy was common and understandable.

With renewed vigour and another biotic throw blasting a wayward turian into a wall, Alan's position met the new charge. They began to hear radio chatter from new friendlies, and the thunder of ships arriving and fighting in the skies.

As they advanced to try and clear room for their flanks, however, a small group of batarians broke off from their assault on the left flank. Seeing the centre on the move, they tried to run down Alan's now advancing group. Assault rifles took out most of them, and Jacob personally rammed one down for a shotgun blast, but three made it past. They had unleashed the same nets from before, snagging most of his team in the electrified razor wire, while electrical pulses staggered the others.

It seemed like the rugged multi-eyed hostiles would inflict a lot of damage, but suddenly, a sniper shot rang through the air, its thunderous sound akin to the vessels overhead.

The batarian at the rear was the first to die, missing a head. The one between the two had his armour cracked and broken by the bullet's exit and entry. And the last one in front of Alan collapsed, his left leg blown apart at the knee as one of the marines finished him off. The instantaneous nature of it led him to conclude that it was all due to a single well placed shot.

While the team worked to disarm the nets, Alan noticed the shot's trajectory came from one of the base's openings. The tail end of a shuttle could be seen zipping past, and try as he might, he couldn't come up with any other explanation for the lucky break.

_Whoever made that shot's either really lucky or better than Hawk._

Verus must have been thinking that, too, because he was admiring the sniper's handiwork. Now they were face to face and neither was making a move to kill the other. A marine tried to do something, but Alan redirected him to the right flank and the pyromaniac vorcha making a suicide run on it.

Despite the mix of admiration and fear he'd built up for his illegal counterpart, Alan had to keep his cool. He drew himself up, and with the dignity due to the leader of his team, he spoke.

"You've lost."

"Yes, we have."

"So call a retreat."

Even now, the turian smiled.

"We could take the base, still. Hold a fortified position. Bleed your troops dry."

He had to give it to him: the guy had moxie. Alan, on the other hand, lacked moxie yet had that most damned of verbal weaponry: facts. Now it was his turn to deliver the soliloquy.

"Your forces are cut off and cut down to size. Even this assault proved harder than you anticipated, judging by how your advantage in numbers was lost. You underestimated our gear, you underestimated our resolve, and whatever tactical edge you held has turned into a knockdown, drag out brawl.

"Do you really want to risk losing everything just by underestimating us _**again?**_"

Verus gave a reply, but the pause before it was telling.

"I have a contract."

_He's about to break. I just have to push._

Alan gave a sweeping gesture, his eyes hardening.

"Look around you, Verus."

He did so. He saw corpses and ashes of Alliance and mercenaries alike.

"Whatever you are to your Hierarchy, you've seen it all before. And I'm guessing you didn't like it then, either."

For the first time, something like desperation entered his voice.

"I've kept fighting even with my losses."

"You'll let someone take a bullet for you," Alan allowed, "but you won't order them to their deaths. Not without good reason, or this would have been much easier for us. Give up now, and my unit will let you leave, though I can't speak for the cavalry."

A sigh escaped the mercenary as he ordered his few remaining men to lower their weapons.

"Well played. Men, fall back now before the Alliance intercepts us. Veliurn, see to the withdrawal."

The nervous looking salarian nodded, barked out some commands, and just like that, it was over.

Cestus remained, however. And the remains of the right and left flanks surrounded him, though Alan kept them on standby.

"You've fought well, human." Verus rumbled with a bit of his former spirits.

"I could take you prisoner, put in a good word for you. The Hierarchy could use a soldier like you, I'm sure."

He didn't know why he said that, why he offered an olive branch to a hostile alien that tried to kill him. Maybe it had to do with that horrendous first impression his species made, and he was trying to mend bridges. Oh well.

Verus chuckled lowly, saying "I'm here because they didn't _want_ a soldier like me. Besides, I may be on the fringe, but I know enough about politics. I know the Council and my people won't listen to you, or your leaders. Too much blood, too much pride. On _both_sides."

Alan shrugged.

"We took the best you had to offer and threw it back. That's should earn us _some_respect."

"Respect...or fear?"

He didn't know what to feel. He knew he felt a mix of things, like fear, admiration, and some anger as well, but he couldn't commit to any one thing. He was just too...different.

"What's your name, human?"

"Alan Ramshiep. Ares to my friends."

He didn't know why he was so quick to answer, either. He had to hand it to the 41st, though: even when facing the man leading the attack which killed off most of their friends, they didn't act out of turn.

"I see. Well, Ramshiep, I applaud your skill...and mourn your losses."

"Don't waste your life, Verus."

The turian turned and began walking out. As he did so, he removed a shattered shoulder plate and a burnt gauntlet. His sniper rifle, however, was folded and kept on his back.

"Spirits willing, we'll meet again."

As their redoubtable foe left, the troops left standing tended to their wounded and dying. In all the commotion, Alan had just found Mari huddled with a few shell shocked marines when his omnitool gave an incoming message alert. It was linked to the base's channels, so it was probably from whoever led the cavalry.

The last leader left standing sighed, but activated the vidcall. The screen flickered to life while Jacob darkly commented "About damn time..."

The background was an alliance ship. In front of him, something familiar yet different. Differently dressed, flawless posture, piercing eyes...and the same dark hair and lean look he had.

"41st division. This is Captain Minerva Ramshiep of the SSV Kuala Lumpur. Report."

That made Jacob's jaw drop.

"_Ramshiep?_" he whispered in disbelief.

The battle had hardened him considerably, but deep down, he felt glad to find a familiar face, even if it was often a source of contention for him.

"Who has the command?"

Alan saluted with his free hand.

"Private Ramshiep, rank N2, reporting in, Captain."

"Give me a situation report."

"Batarians and pirates hit hard, thinking to secure a supply line. A lot of good soldiers gave their lives to make sure it didn't happen."

"Then they didn't die in vain. Hostiles are in full retreat. We'll handle clean up, so get some rest. You've all earned it."

Fresh reinforcements entered the base with supplies and transports for the survivors. Thankfully, his squad respected his privacy and left him to his call. After a moment of silence to ensure they wouldn't be disturbed, the captain spoke.

"Alan."

"Minnie."

"I'm not displeased that you're not dead.

He had to smile at that. Belligerence was part of her being, he thought.

"Thanks for coming."

Her eyes turned from his, probably reading a summary of the damage and results.

"First battle?"

"First real one, yeah."

"Not exactly. It's just like the raids and operations you've been on so far, just on a much larger scale."

"If this is the truth, it's not very comforting."

That brought her gaze to his. Like many times before over the years, it was stern but earnest.

"Then I'm saying it wrong. I meant that this could have been much worse, and I'm proud of you for making it through. I always knew you would."

He had nothing to say. All the shouting, all the rants, all the complaints, confessions, and accusations he had for the higher ups melted away. Just because his sister believed in him.

"...Thank you."

"One thing. Call mom and dad."

"I know."

The call deactivated and Alan heaved a relieved sigh. As he returned to the terminal in order to restore the base's functions, he found Taylor looking at him the way a student would look at their first eezo demonstration.

"...It's complicated."

Funnily enough, that answer was all it took to mollify Taylor.

"I know that feeling, man."

The base's remaining systems lit up and Alan finally removed his hardsuit's helmet. Taylor did the same, and he could see the steady, dependable look upon his face. He was glad he had him on his team.

"Guess this is where we part ways, unless they rebuild the unit. Hopefully we'll meet again, Taylor."

They clasped arms and bumped fists. A sad but proud smile graced the darker biotic's lips.

"Take care, war god."

That was the last he saw of most of the squad, but it wasn't the end of it. A few days later, he got a call. Later that evening, he was in a bar on Elysium.

It was a simple establishment. Enough modern comforts to be convenient, but with enough antiques and oddments from Earth to make any humans feel at home. The jackalope head, pinball machine and jukebox were nice touches.

And sitting at the counter, out of uniform, was the young lady he called friend. He'd recognise those shoulders anywhere, and he could see her eyes staring blankly at her glass.

"Mari."

Something like life entered her again, judging by her immediate response. She looked surprised but pleased by his presence.

"Alan."

He took his seat, and it felt pretty good. Right now, he didn't have to be a soldier or a sentinel. No hacks, no guns, no orders. Just a guy, a girl, and a bartender...'s drinks.

"I knew you'd make it."

"Well...we never did get to have that drink. And Raven said their bartender makes a hell of a Mai Tai."

They passed the time with idle chatter, even though they knew it was just filler. Sights, sounds, activities, the colonies, the drinks...it was pleasant enough, but it was forced. They both knew what they were really here for, and Alan fired the first shot.

"So...how are you feeling?"

Not for the first time, nor the last, he cursed his brain for asking it in the simplest possible way. However, Mari was distracted by her thoughts, so she didn't bother with his directness. Her voice was close to a whisper.

"Everyone we knew, Alan. Or near enough that it doesn't matter. They're all dead, and I...I just can't do this anymore."

He almost choked on his drink right there. After clearing his throat, he turned to her, seeking something. An answer, comfort, he didn't know what. In battle or on the sidelines, he prided himself of trying to think things through. Yet when it came to his own choices and matters, he often felt as clueless as those idiot protagonists in the vids.

She smiled at that, not unkindly.

"Don't act so surprised. I was never a soldier."

Desperately, he tried to cling to the last bit of stability he had left. Somehow, he knew it was a lost cause. All that was left was that desperate sinking feeling of inevitability.

"No...that...Mari, you're stronger than I am. Since day one, we've watched each other's backs."

"We both know that's not true. I only made it because I had you. You made it because you had someone to take care of."

Her words rang with truth and sorrow. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. All he had were questions in his head.

_Why is this happening?_

Why didn't she tell me until tonight?

Did either of us know?

What happens now?

"...I know things have changed. And I know that asking you to stay would be the worst thing I can do. I'm just...scared."

"You could come with me."

He froze with a drink at his lips. From the corner of his eyes, he could see her.

"You've bled for the Alliance and helped people. Nobody can doubt that. You could leave...but I know you won't."

He swallowed calmly this time, the beverage tickling at his taste buds and reaching for his head like a thousand tiny fingers.

"What?"

The curious thing this time wasn't the offer itself; it was that he wasn't jumping at it.

Mari helped herself to her drink before speaking. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who felt the need for some liquid courage.

"You've complained for years since we met at brain camp. Every phase of training, every engagement, you had some smartass comment to give and you whined for days after. In fact, I've never had a moment's rest with you around. But why would someone who complains so much stay on for so long?

"You're just that kind of guy. You may grouse about it, but you'll give all of yourself to help others. Because you know that there are people worse off than you who need help, and you'll accept nearly any hardship to do something about it."

He couldn't come up with an argument. He was too tired, too alone...and deep down, he knew she was right. So all he could do was be similarly honest, and say the things he should have said months or years ago.

"Maybe I stayed because I had good people to help me. I'm nothing without...well, without a squad. Or you."

That made her smirk.

"Are you hitting on me, war god?"

However, that smirk died when she saw the earnestness in his eyes.

"I'd like it if we could just start over, take a well earned break, pick up the pieces and rebuild our lives..." she confessed, "...but that won't happen so long as you're worrying about things that you could have done to help. I can't do that to you."

He turned in his seat and leaned back, for no other reason except that he felt the need to lean against something. A skylight gave him a front row seat to the stars as he tilted his head back.

"So what happens to us, then?"

"We go our separate ways and try to do something good. Hopefully we'll stay in touch."

"You mean outside of stalking you on Spacebook and leaving annual birthday wishes. Yeah, I'm all for it."

That made her laugh, corny as it was. She always laughed at the right times. One of the things he loved about her.

"I don't suppose this is one of those times where we make a crazy promise like 'I'll wait for you' or 'let's make a baby if we're still single ten years later'?"

"Al, sweetie," she began soothingly, "you know those are just vids."

"I know, I know...Friends with benefits? This is the part where you slap me, by the way."

Despite his measure to mitigate his choice of vulgar humour, he found that she was giving him an exaggerated look of consideration.

"Well, I didn't say no."

They laughed then, together. Just like old times.

Perhaps that was why, despite knowing that she was right, he was stretching this out.

"I don't want to say goodbye." Alan whispered. "I don't want to be alone, too. I'm just not strong enough, but I'm too stupid to do otherwise."

He felt her hand on his, and faced her.

"You're stronger than you know. I hope you see that someday."

"And what about happiness? Not going to hope I find that?" he teased.

"You can find happiness anywhere. That's one of the weirdest parts about you." Mari countered matter-of-factly.

Suddenly, the song stopped, and the interval of a new track being put on marked a new piece. A relaxed bass and an almost robotic voice alerted both of them to Earth, Wind and Fire's _Let's Groove_.

Alan allowed himself to laugh, saying "Oh, hey. They're playing our song."

She smirked and twisted her brows in confusion while the singer spoke of 'boogieing down'.

"Since when was it _our_song?"

"Well, it's one of the few songs that we agree on liking. Honestly, 'The Screaming Brown Stars'?"

She rose from her seat and placed a hand on a hip.

"Are you gonna ask a girl to dance or what?"

And like the song, they grooved that night.

It was an oddly surreal experience, bitter and sweet. His mind had not arranged it into something bittersweet, because he knew without a doubt: dancing with her was the sweetest thing he knew, and leaving would be bitter as a man with regrets.

They took it easy at first, at a respectable distance, each laughing at the other's moves. Then, somewhere into the first minute, he drew her closer to him. Their hands intertwined, and he slipped an arm around her waist. Her warmth, her scent and her eyes enveloped him in something like a pocket universe.

And for those few minutes, he felt at ease.

When the song ended, they drew back. Hesitance on both their parts kept them still as statues, neither wanting to let go.

Yet they knew the distance that would grow as their paths diverged.

"...Goodbye, Al."

He embraced her...then let her go.

"Goodbye, Mari. And thanks."

_-The Citadel, seven years later...-_

It was a completely different setting for a number of reasons. The place was a club rather than a bar, the music was more country than disco, the drinks included alien concoctions, and his companion was a hulking man instead of a petite female. All the same, it felt familiar.

Shepard quaffed his scotch and took another drag of the super classy cigar he got from the black market. He wasn't really a smoker, but the fact that they were proper, hand-rolled cigars and that they even had the word 'classy' (allegedly) written on the product case in a foreign language was all the advertising he needed...though his omnitool failed to recognise the script.

"So, Ares," he drawled, "got any good war stories?"

The lieutenant smiled as he sipped at his own beverage. He'd honestly thought about that. Over the last seven years, he had a lot to think about. And somehow, the last few weeks alone seemed to stick out in his mind just as much.

"Nothing to match what I went through with you, I'm afraid. How about you?"

Shepard turned in his stool and leaned against the counter. A look of easy contentment was seen on his face. It was the sort of look that often graced Ares's face, but seldom Shepard, a man of many extremes.

"Well, there was this one time in the Blitz..."

**Author's notes: Aaaaaaand we're done! It's been awhile since I wrote something this long! Thanks for making it this far! And now for the little reward!**

**I am indeed planning a spin off, with Ares engaged in special tasks and adventures that will take him across the galaxy! Here's where you come in: I am opening up requests for cameos! Just send a PM or a review with a brief description of the character (links if you've got 'em), and I'll try and fit them in!**

**Though bear in mind, it's subject to making sense within the plot! Sad to say, I am unable to cameo Harbinger to be punched in the face, and Blasto is fictional. It's also not a guarantee for a significant role, because it is, after all, a cameo, a little thing to colour out the storyverse. Still, I hope you have fun if you have anybody in mind!**


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